A Midsummer's Nightmare
by Experimental
Summary: Or Juuohcho no HardBoiled Wonderland and the Search for Spockkun. A breach of security has occurred in Meifu, claiming one of their own. Could it be the result of the lunar eclipse? or is enka to blame? Only the Shokan Division can solve this mystery.
1. Watari no Zundoko Bushi

A Midsummer's Nightmare  
-or-  
JuOhCho no Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the Search for Spock-kun

—

_It was the night of the lunar eclipse that it all happened. _

_Now I've been dead for six years. This year I would have celebrated my twenty-second birthday. So it's no surprise I've seen a lot of strange things in my time as a Shinigami. But that night took the cake. I still don't know how to explain it. It was as if we had wandered into someone's dream, like the laws of physics had been thrown into a food processor, set on liquify, and then chucked out the window. Like everything that had ever happened had been squeezed together into one ten-hour period, and things that just weren't supposed to happen, _ever 

_The evening started out normal enough. Things had been pretty quiet at the office since the holiday rush, but lately we'd been working overtime on a couple of cases. Vacation accidents and the like. So to mark the end of it we decided we'd all go out and treat ourselves to dinner at this traditional restaurant by the river that everyone had been talking about. . . . After six years I thought nothing about these guys would surprise me anymore. I thought their tendency to embarrass themselves in public would grow on me to the point where I could automatically tune it out. I thought wrong. That year that song was released, that dance, the bane of my existence, that . . ._

—

"'Kiyoshi no Zun-Doko Bushi'!" 

Watari and Tsuzuki beamed as they stared at the karaoke list, mirror images of each other, their mouths open in big stupid grins, eyes wide and sparkling, etcetera. . . . This dragged on for several seconds during which time there was only the awkward sound of people dining. 

"Your faces will get stuck that way," Tatsumi casually observed as he lifted his teacup to his lips. 

"Dorks," added Hisoka, even more casually. 

Beside him, Watari's and Tsuzuki's expressions returned to normal, however the excitement in the air remained palpable as ever. "I am so doing it," Watari said with serious determination. 

"M-m—" Tsuzuki popped another shrimp ball into his mouth. "You totally should." 

"After this number I think I'll go up." A middle-aged businesswoman was currently crooning some gushy theme from a romantic movie rather poorly. 

"I think you should," Tsuzuki echoed. 

"That is . . . unless you'd rather do the honors!" 

"No, by all means! I sang it last time!" 

The two now had their ultra-polite, 'after-you-no-after-you' smiles on. Tatsumi sighed. 

As did Hisoka. "Will _one_ of you just do it and get it over with!" he said. 

He had certainly not expected the reaction his outburst produced. It was only after it was out that he realized how his tone could be mistaken for a jealous one. The other two turned to him with sympathetic faces. "Oh, we didn't mean to leave you out, Hisoka," Tsuzuki said, who was one step away from patting his partner on the head and mussing his hair a la some TV dad. 

"Yeah," said Watari. "If you wanna sing it, I'd have no qualms with that. And here I thought you were too shy." 

Panicking, Hisoka stammered, "It's not that, really—" 

But his explanation was cut off as someone jumped on his back. That is, two someones. "Ooohhh, I want to see Hisoka-kun do the Zun-Doko dance!" said one. 

"That would be so incredibly _cute_!" said the other. 

He started. "Eh . . . Saya? . . . _Yuma_? What are you two doing here!" 

All eyes shot to the end of the table, where Wakaba, armed with a disarmingly innocent smile, slowly raised a hand. "That would be my fault," she said. "I, uh . . . I thought the party could use some more girls, er, for Hajime-chan—" 

Meanwhile Terazuma, who hadn't really been paying much attention to anything besides his food, smokes, and the woman on the karaoke stage, nearly jumped out of his skin. "_What!_" 

"—And I felt kind of bad for them, all alone up there in Hokkaido and never getting invited to our parties." 

"Yeah, there's a reason for that," Hisoka muttered under his breath. He usually didn't think this way about girls, but he made a mental note to kill Wakaba later. 

Meanwhile, Saya and Yuma had never really stopped doing what they did best, which is gush over Hisoka and his cuteness. "Wouldn't he just look adorable doing the Zun-Doko?" 

"Just like Hikawa Kiyoshi! Just like him!" 

"What I wouldn't give to see him in that little striped leisure suit." 

"That would be so _hot!_" 

"And the hair's just perfect!" 

It was useless to struggle, but at least it was actually another guy they were plotting to dress him up as this time. That could be seen as some improvement. Hisoka managed to shoot a pained, pleading look around the table. Unfortunately it seemed Tatsumi was ignoring the three of them and no one else seemed to notice. 

Except Terazuma, that is, who, watching the pitiful display, squirmed in his seat, looking as though something had his balls in a vice. "Why don't you just leave him alone," he said. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, thought Hisoka. "Maybe he doesn't know the words." 

Hisoka rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you're around these guys as much as I am and you learn pretty quick." Damn. Now why hadn't he just said yeah, Terazuma's got it right? Probably because if he had someone would just try to teach him anyway. That was what usually happened. He took a deep breath. It was high time he told them the truth. "Look," he said, "I don't want to sing it 'cause I don't like it." 

Watari and Tsuzuki pouted. "You don't like 'Kiyoshi no Zun-Doko Bushi'?" 

"But . . . but it's the best song ever." 

Jesus Christ, they were dense. "No, you geeks. I don't like enka!" 

The table went silent. Even Terazuma's end. He hadn't really expected that. 

UBIQUITOUS APPROPRIATELY INTERJECTED JAPANESE CULTURE NOTE. Enka: n. A style of _kayokyoku_, or Japanese folk music, the topics of which range from doomed love affairs and separation to nostalgia and famous bars, usually featuring a mix of traditional and modern instruments with stylized vocals, and a staple of singing competitions, karaoke bars and other events that inspire drunkenness. It arose like Gojira from the troubled sea of young working men and women of the postwar generation but lately had begun to fall out of popularity, even gained the descriptive adjective "square" — that is, until a young hero named Hikawa Kiyoshi appeared on the scene to rescue it. 

Back in the restaurant, all eyes had turned to Hisoka. The only movement was the curl of smoke from Terazuma's cigarette and Tsuzuki greedily stuffing away shrimp balls. And now the chief said with incredible disbelief, speaking up for the first time since the beginning of the karaoke debate: 

"You don't like enka?" 

"Hey, I'm not the only one," Hisoka said in his own defense. However, if anyone was going to jump in and confirm that they were sure taking their sweet time. ". . . Am I?" 

Tatsumi looked uncharacteristically hurt. "Why don't you like enka?" 

"I just don't, okay?" said Hisoka, looking meekly around for some support. Was there a problem with that? It wasn't fair. He didn't see why they had to gang up on him just because he didn't like a genre of music that should have died a decade ago. "Because. . . . Because it's what old people listen to." 

The chief nodded. "You do have a point there." 

"Hey, speak for yourself," said Terazuma. 

"But Kiyoshi's cool," said Watari. "All the kids your age like him." 

"All the girls, anyway," added Tsuzuki around a full mouth, which made Hisoka painfully aware once again of how unnecessarily close his two admirers were sitting. 

"Look," he said quickly, as he saw out of the corner of his eye the warbling businesswoman leave the stage, "I don't see why we need to discuss it. Wasn't Watari going to do his number or something?" He couldn't believe he was actually encouraging him. 

With a quick glance over his shoulder at the stage, Watari shot up from his seat. "Hoo-wah! Now's my chance!" he exclaimed, draining his sake cup, slamming it on the table and raising a resolute fist; and one would have thought he could almost see rising suns and crashing waves behind him if they weren't in such an otherwise normal establishment. 

"Good luck! Try your best!" chimed everyone except Hisoka. 

"Of cour-r-rse!" said Watari, rolling his 'r' like a gangster. 

"We're all supporting you!" said Tsuzuki. 

"One-hundred percent!" said the chief. 

"Here I go-o-o!" said Watari. 

He made his way to the stage and made his selection, gripping the microphone with ecstatic determination. And when the bongos started, followed closely by the brass section in a jaunty melody, the whole restaurant turned to see who it was who had dared to take on such an awesome song. And when the refrain came and Watari sang "Zun . . . zun zu-un zun-dokah," and swung his hips and his free arm in the prescribed manner back and forth with the rhythm, the whole table did the exact same thing. Except Hisoka, naturally, who turned beat red and wanted to die. 

While a lone guitar twanged against the cantering beat of the bongos, Watari sang an old-fashioned kind of song about a sweet flower scattered on the wind, and a girl in a red china dress who'll give you an extra piece or two of pork with your ramen. The table provided backup with a high "ba-baya," until the refrain came around again and they got to use their arms. Then it was a gasoline stand that he sang of against a backdrop of violins, and his voice was full of passion and good-humor, his rolled 'r's and vibrato were spot on, and the playful sway of his hips made all the old ladies in the establishment sit up and take notice. By the time the chorus came around a third time some of the other patrons had even joined in singing and dancing with their arms, captured by the catchy tune and the singer's magnetism. Tsuzuki and the chief were really getting into it, old-fashioned and completely tanked as they were, but even the reserved Tatsumi was looking unusually enthusiastic. 

"Zun . . . zun zu-un zun-dokah," they all sang. "Zun . . . zun zu-un zun-dokah." 

At last the orchestra geared up to send this number off with a bang, and it seemed to Hisoka that the whole restaurant reverberated to the beams as everyone joined in shouting one final, zealous, and drunken: 

"Hey!" 

—

_In hindsight, maybe I should have said something. Like, Maybe this isn't a good idea, singing that song. I have a bad feeling about this. But at the time I was just thinking, Great, I'm going to spend the rest of eternity surrounded by old farts, and was cursing my perpetually teenage body that wouldn't allow me to purchase alcohol so I could get as smashed as the chief and pass out right then and there. I don't know if it was the eclipse or just some strange turn of events, but it was only after Watari's performance at the restaurant that things started to get really weird. You know how they say you can summon evil spirits by saying their name three times, and then they'll make bad things happen? Well, it was something like that. As though by singing that song and doing the Zun-Doko dance and everything — and making a communal effort of it — we somehow accidentally opened a door to an alternate reality. None of us quite realized it at the time, though. Unfortunately. _

_That's why I hate enka._

—  
tbc 


	2. Cone of Darkness, Teresa Teng, Headphone

"Damn it! Now I got that song stuck in my head." 

Hisoka held his head and kicked a rock that sat in his path. He knew he was being childish, and somewhere he felt ashamed of that, but thankfully it didn't seem like anyone had noticed. Or else they were just being polite. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hurried to catch up with Tsuzuki and the rest who were taking in the scene of the river from the bridge. 

"Whew!" Yuma said, finally quitting with the Zun-Doko recaps, as she swayed uncertainly and threw an arm around Saya's shoulders. "What a night! You guys sure know how to party, lemme tell ya. I. Am. Tanked!" She giggled. 

"I guess we should probably turn in," said Saya. 

"Oh? Leaving already?" Tsuzuki asked. The other men seemed to hold their breath as he did so, though they were no doubt wanting to ask the question themselves and were loath to say anything that might sound like an extended invitation. It was just that it would have been like the two women to follow them home if given the slightest reason. 

"It's been a long day," slurred Yuma, yawning. 

"And you drank a lot," said Saya, stating the obvious. 

"Hehe . . . I sure did, didn't I?" 

A giddy Yuma leaned closer to her partner, and Saya blushed slightly, and Terazuma watched it all with fascination. Luckily Wakaba was keeping a close eye on him. "Oh, no you don't," she said, sticking a fuda to his forehead before anything could happen. The only effect on Terazuma was frustration, but that was understandable considering the level of distraction. "Hey, I can't see," he said, which come to think of it had probably been more Wakaba's point than the possibility of his transforming in front of any mortal who walked by. 

"Bye-bye!" the girls said with a wave, which Tsuzuki was happy to return. "See y'all bright and early tomorrow morning!" they added to worse reception. Tsuzuki forced a laugh. He didn't have to turn around to see the glares of death which were trained on him and Wakaba. 

It was only after they had gone that Tatsumi remembered what had been so important: "They forgot to pay their portion _again_," he grumbled. 

Knowing Tatsumi's feelings on mooching, a lengthy lecture on financial responsibility was bound to ensue, or, what was potentially worse, an ominous and delicate presumption that everything was fine on the part of the secretary. Whichever it was going to be, Hisoka was not in the mood to find out. He decided he'd join Watari instead, who was standing by himself apart from the rest of the group looking up at the night sky, doggie bag in hand. This struck Hisoka as odd considering Watari's high spirits — 'lofty' would be the term Hisoka would have used — following his acclaimed karaoke performance. Although that had been somewhat annoying, it was preferable to the quiet state he was in now. 

"What's up?" Hisoka said. He had never really been the kind to show concern when it wasn't important. 

"I was just thinkin'," Watari said, and his tone was so distant Hisoka might as well not have been there, "that t'night's gonna be somethin' real special." 

Hisoka thought he was talking about dinner — the evening was pretty much over and he couldn't imagine there was anything else planned — so he said, though it pained him to do so: "Yeah, well . . . that was a pretty good show back there, I guess. . . ." 

To Hisoka's surprise, Watari stared blankly at him for a moment. 

Then he laughed. "Thanks, Bon," he said, and he looked genuinely touched. "I forgot about that." 

"Then, what did you mean, 'special'?" 

"I didn't mention it before? T'night there's gonna be a total lunar eclipse. Promises to be amazing." 

He looked up at the sky, and Hisoka, leaning on the railing, did the same. It was a beautiful midsummer night, the sky was clear and the stars were just coming out and the temperature was refreshingly mild. The full moon hung low over the river, looking just like it always did. "I don't notice anything different," Hisoka said. 

"Of course," said Watari. "The moon hasn't passed into the penumbra yet." 

"The penumbra?" 

Bingo! It was science lesson time. Watari's demeanor instantly brightened as he saw another chance to discuss the workings of the universe. He assumed a studious air, which he even managed without the aid of his lab coat, and an aura of childlike enthusiasm expanded around him. 

"The penumbra's part of Earth's shadow," he began. "You see, the Earth has two parts t' its shadow: the penumbra where sunlight's partially blocked, and the umbra in which it's fully blocked. The umbra's much smaller and narrower — think of it as a Cone of Silence, only more like a Cone of Darkness — so total eclipses happen less often than partial eclipses, when part of the moon's in the umbra, or penumbral eclipses which you can't hardly notice anyway." 

"Why don't you get an eclipse every full moon?" asked Tsuzuki, joining them and filling the role of the pupil avidly. 

"You would," said Watari, "if the moon's orbit was on the ecliptic plane. As it is, its orbit's inclined five degrees, so you'd only get an eclipse if the full moon and new moon corresponded t' the nodes." 

"Nodes?" said Hisoka. 

"Think of the ecliptic plane as the surface of a bowl of miso soup, where the sun and the Earth're tofu cubes floating at the surface, and the moon's a scallion orbiting around one'a the cubes. Most of the time it's either under the surface in the soup or above it . . . Of course scallions don't actually behave that way so maybe that's not the best example. But d'you get the picture? The moon passes through the 'surface' twice in its orbit — that's the two nodes. Only when the nodes line up with the sun and Earth d'you get an eclipse, and that happens just about twice a year. 

"They don't all have to line up exactly t' get a total eclipse," Watari quickly added, "but it just so happens that's what they're doin' tonight. Almost precisely at midnight, if you can believe that luck. That's why this one's gonna be so special." 

He did look truly excited, but Hisoka still didn't see why. "So, then, what's supposed to happen? I mean, does the moon totally disappear or something?" He had to admit that would have been something to stay up for. 

"Eh, no," said Watari. "When you have a partial lunar eclipse it usually looks like somethin' took a big chunk out of it for a little while, but with a total eclipse . . . It's just red all over." 

Hisoka started. An all-red moon! Just like that time . . . He shivered. And to think just now he had almost been looking forward to it. There had to be some mistake. "Red all over?" he said. "You're sure?" 

"Yep." Watari nodded. "Completely crimson. Bloody, if you will. Apparently some light still makes it around the Earth into the umbra. It has more atmosphere to travel through, so only the lower frequencies like red can make it. . . . Anyway, it's pretty funky, huh?" But it wasn't. Not to Hisoka. "Bon? You okay?" Watari asked, sensing his dark mood. 

But he looked so excited about this one thing that Hisoka didn't want to bring him down. Nor did he want to delve into unpleasant personal experiences. "Yeah," he said. "It sounds neat, Watari-san." 

"Hey, are you guys coming or what?" Terazuma called, a fresh cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. The others were crossing the far side of the bridge. 

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec," said Watari, and Hisoka made to join him in joining the others until he noticed Tsuzuki hadn't moved from his spot against the railing. "You coming, Tsuzuki?" he said. 

"Can we go slow?" Tsuzuki said with a slight wince. "I got a stomach ache." 

Hisoka sighed but extended a helping arm to his partner anyway. Tsuzuki took it and his shoulder, too. "Stupid," Hisoka muttered. "Figures, the way you were putting it away." Jeez, he had sake-breath too. "And with your drinking habits . . . Maybe it will help to walk it off." 

"Hisoka. . . ." 

Tsuzuki leaned against his shoulder. It would have been just like him, Hisoka thought with a sigh, to get fresh at a time like this, when he'd been drinking and they were lagging behind the rest of the group and Hisoka was putting up with his acting like a little kid. "Hm?" he said, keeping himself occupied with the scenery. 

"I think I'm going to be sick." 

When Hisoka finally noticed Tsuzuki looked a little green, it was too late to move out of the way. 

—

Ten minutes later saw them standing outside Watari's office. 

"Hurry up and open it," Tsuzuki whined as he held his stomach. 

"I'm goin' as fast as I can," Watari said. But the door-unlocking ritual seemed unnecessarily long. First he had to slide the card through the slot, wait for the green light, then type in the number code . . . Whatever happened to the good old days of turning a key? 

Which is exactly what Tsuzuki said. "Why do you need all this security anyway?" 

"So no one steals my hard work. Or equipment, for that matter; Tatsumi would blow a gasket." 

"But who'd want to steal your stuff?" 

Watari sighed. 

"Have some patience, Tsuzuki," said Hisoka. 

"But I'm going to hurl." 

Hisoka bristled. That was a horse of a different color, and for that matter so was the front of his shirt. No repeats needed, or desired. "Please hurry, Watari-san!" 

When at last the final green light blinked and the door opened, Tsuzuki made a beeline for the toilet. Watari paid him no heed, whistling "Kiyoshi no Zun-Doko Bushi" to himself as he turned on the lights and hung up his coat. Startled awake by the noise, his little owl 003 bounced happily on her perch on top of the locker and fluttered down to a lower altitude. She hooted repeatedly, and if one didn't know her so well they would have thought it was with an almost human fondness. Of course, everyone who worked here knew there was no _almost_ about it. 

Just the sight of her was enough to brighten Watari back up to full. "Evenin', my little friend," he said, scratching her head. "I missed you t'night. Sorry you had t' stay home. . . . But I brought something t' make it up to ya." Inside the doggie bag were all kinds of goodies collected from their dinner earlier, none of them exactly fit for an owl. Tempura vegetables and soba noodles, takoyaki. But 003 flapped her wings in excitement, which had the effect of making her look like an animated ball of feathers. It was her way of saying thanks for the chow. For an owl, she had impeccable manners. 

"They had karaoke there," he continued as he watched her eat. "Wish you could've seen it. I did that song you like so much, and everyone started gettin' into it. . . ." He chuckled and smiled at her. 

Hisoka had the strange feeling he was intruding on something that was private and precious. He thought of his shirt again, then saw there was an old dishtowel sitting next to one of the sinks. "Hey, Watari-san, can I use this?" he said. 

Watari looked up like he had just remembered Hisoka was there. "Oh, sure, Bon," he said, and turned back to 003. Hisoka got it wet and started dabbing at his shirt. "You know," Watari said after a moment, "that reminds me: I do remember someone snoopin' around in here a few weeks ago." 

"What happened?" said Hisoka. 

"I was treating him for a severe case of athletes foot and caught him tryin' t' steal my latest attempt at a gender-switchin' formula. . . . At least, I think he was trying t' steal it. Good thing he didn't 'cause turned out it was only good for developin' stomach ulcers. Ulcers and athletes foot — not a good combination." 

"You tested it on yourself?" 

"I really thought I had it that time." Watari picked out one of the bottles from the cluster at the back of his desk. It was filled with a clear liquid that could have been mistaken for water if Hisoka didn't know Watari and his experiments so well. "Is that it?" he asked. 

"Yep," said Watari, and promptly sprayed a liberal amount on the front of Hisoka's shirt. 

"_What are you doing?_" 

Hisoka automatically raised his arms to fend the stuff off, but Watari grabbed his shoulder. 

"Hold still, will ya?" he said. "As it turned out, when I watered it down I discovered it was a very powerful stain and odor remover. Safe for all materials and dyes. Soaks in and lifts it out." 

Sure enough, it started working almost instantly. Hisoka was impressed. "Watari-san," he said, "you know this may be the most practical thing you've ever come up with." 

"And completely by accident, too." 

"You could make a fortune!" 

Watari shrugged. "Well, unfortunately there's still a bug I haven't been able t' work out yet. See, when it does its thing it starts t' smell like whiskey—" 

"Oh my God—" Hisoka quickly covered his nose and mouth. 

"Must be some kind of chemical reaction. Sneaks up on ya, doesn't it?" 

That was the understatement of the year. This wasn't some mean batch of horseradish they were talking about. In an instant, Hisoka smelled like he'd bathed in Wild Turkey. It wasn't an odor remover if it replaced one odor with something worse! he thought of saying, but it was then that Tsuzuki staggered out of the bathroom. 

"And how are we feelin'?" Watari asked him. 003 had polished off the leftovers and looked up. 

"Bad," was Tsuzuki's diagnosis. 

—

Thap . . . thap . . . thap . . . 

The three sat in a triangle in the office, Tsuzuki on one of the infirmary cots, clutching his stomach which rumbled at fairly regular intervals, Hisoka on the other across from him, and Watari in his swivel chair, one leg over the other. From the top of the locker, 003 watched all. The tense silence between them could be cut with a knife. It was no less than a physical entity, a Snowcone of Silence, impatience flavor. It was tried by the steady thud of the pen hitting the clipboard head-on, as Watari turned it around in his fingers. Thap . . . thap . . . thap . . . Deep in thought, he stared out the window into the darkness. "Hona," he would mutter every other minute, like he was going to say something important, but then he seemed to have second thoughts because he never said anything other than "hona." 

A Teresa Teng album was playing on the stereo. It must have been _Teresa Teng Perfect Collection: Most Depressing Ballads Ever_ by the sound of it. It was more than a little eerie sitting there in silence listening to an artist who had died seven years ago. Hisoka remembered how he had been taken aback to learn that only after his own death, when he and Tsuzuki had been working on the Maria Wong case. She had been forty-three and stunning, Teng, and on tour in Thailand when she suffered a fatal asthma attack. Hisoka had never been a fan, more out of lack of opportunity than anything, but he couldn't help feeling like the butt of a bad joke when he finally found out. Although, to her credit, that wasn't such a bad way to go — and he knew plenty about such things. 

This album was completely devoid of up-beat songs. Wasn't there a scientific law against that? 

"Spock-kun . . ." Watari said to himself. 

Tsuzuki and Hisoka both looked up. It was the first thing Watari had said in two songs. It also made no sense. 

"What?" they both said. 

Watari blinked. "Oh? Did I say something?" 

"You said, 'Spock-kun'. . . ." Hisoka helped. 

"Oh." Watari nonchalantly scratched his temple with the pen. "I must have been thinkin' out loud." 

"About what's been making me sick?" said Tsuzuki suggestively. 

Watari glanced between the two. If he had noticed the hint — and it was likely, having associated with Tsuzuki for so long, he hadn't — he didn't seem to give Tsuzuki's condition much thought. The careless way he handled the sign-in clipboard was as though to say, You're still here? "You ate bad shrimp," he said. "You should be all better by morning." 

"I'm so glad." Tsuzuki let out a deep sigh. "I haven't lost my touch." 

"You're sure that's all it is?" Hisoka said, mentally cursing his partner. Really, what kind of person took pride in knowing he was potentially very sick, but at least it wasn't because of his drinking habits? 

He didn't see why such a simple diagnosis should have taken so long, either. A glance at the clipboard revealed obscure formulaic scribblings in place of a patient chart. 

"The symptoms were pretty immediate." The pen-tapping resumed on the arm of the chair. "Typical of food poisoning." 

"Is there anything you can give him?" Hisoka said. "I mean, like a suppository or something?" 

Tsuzuki shot him an evil look. "Hisoka, what are you suggesting?" he mumbled. 

"Well, it's not like you can keep down medication like this," Hisoka mumbled back. He was only being realistic, of course. He wasn't _that_ sadistic. . . . Well, not when it was important, he amended. 

Tsuzuki sniffed. "I feel much better now, thank you," was his reply. 

Watari blinked. "That's good! 'Cause you're just gonna have to let it work its way out of your system. Naturally." 

"What?" said Tsuzuki. 

"After the vomiting you'll probably experience cramps and diarrhea, but on the plus side by that time you'll be over the hump." Watari shrugged. But his straightforwardness did little to reassure the man in question. Teresa Teng was singing "Dream Drama." Watari slid his chair back and forth across the floor a few times before realizing the two still expected something of him. "Aw, chin up, Tsuzuki. Happens t' the best of us. . . . Okay, so most of us don't stuff away a whole bowl of shrimp balls in one sitting. . . . Maybe you should see this as a life lesson." 

"Then again," Hisoka said, "if he hadn't hoarded them all, we might all be sick." 

Watari blinked thoughtfully, in awe of that revelation. "Huh. You got a point, Bon. Makes me wonder if things don't happen for a reason." 

Tsuzuki glared at them both by way of the opposite wall. 

"Now, don't look like that," Watari said. "Would the Tsuzuki I know let a little indigestion bother him?" 

Tsuzuki wondered, what with his arms the way they were, if Watari could see he was giving him the bird. 

"The best thing you can do's go home and sleep it off." 

"That's a good idea," Hisoka said with a sigh as he stood. "Come on, Tsuzuki." 

"Thank you, Hisoka," Tsuzuki said as he slowly joined him, resigning himself to his fate. "Thanks for nothing, Watari." 

"Come again," Watari countered with a grin. 

Hisoka paused at the door, about to ask if he was coming. But he thought better of it. Watari probably had work he wanted to catch up on, as usual, and besides the lunar eclipse he was so excited about was still to come. Good night and good luck. Smile and wave. It was best to leave it at that. 

—

_Something was up with Watari-san. That's what Tsuzuki said when we left his office. I could feel it. Not necessarily wrong, just . . . different. Like an umbra in his emotions — a Cone of Darkness. Something bittersweet, nostalgic. I thought it might have had something to do with the eclipse. Sometimes anticipation brings people down, or the end of a high, like the one he had gotten from doing karaoke. Don't ask me why. I'm not a doctor. Of course, that depressing stuff he had on the stereo couldn't help. Anyway, we agreed on one thing: it was like Watari to be distracted but not _that _distracted. _

_Whatever it was, though, it was none of my business. I had enough on my hands with Tsuzuki and his indigestion. My mission was to get him home and off his feet like the doctor ordered — then get myself into something that didn't smell like Wild Turkey — and if this kept up much longer I wouldn't have time to admire the lunar eclipse. Not that I particularly wanted to. It always brought back unpleasant memories. Unless I was like the thief in Ango's "In the Forest, Under Cherries in Full Bloom," taking some masochistic pleasure from immersing myself in what I dreaded, I wasn't interested. And he'd had a psychotic wife who enjoyed playing with rotting heads to worry about. On second thought, there were some parallels between our situations, disturbing parallels. But that was nothing to dwell on at such a time. I glanced at my watch. A little after nine. Good. I still had about two-and-a-half hours before I needed to worry. With any luck, I'd be out by then. Fast asleep. If only fate would be so kind. _

_The hallways seemed extra long that night. I almost thought we'd never get home. The sound of our shoes was a looped drumbeat, going on to eternity. Reflections in the highly polished floor the stereo track. And then I happened to look up and see him. _

_Coming toward us down the hall was a young man in a suit about nineteen or twenty years old. He looked like he worked here — he looked right at home the way he carried himself, like he had somewhere to go, a job to do, but I had never seen him before in my life. He had short black hair and nondescript but good features, and had on a pair of glasses which were only framed on the top of the lenses. He was wearing headphones, the kind that fit inside your ear, and I could hear the tinny beat getting louder in tandem with his footsteps as the distance between us closed. It sounded like rap. Shakkazombie. It didn't match the blazer. _

_I held my breath as we passed. Like an action anime where time gets all stretched out and leaves the two opponents suspended in midair, slowly floating by each other. Our eyes met. "I didn't understand," came the voice inside the headphones, over and over again. "I didn't understand, I didn't understand, I didn't understand anything." I remember thinking I should have recognized him from someplace. _

_In that moment, I had the distinct feeling he was looking into my soul. _

_The moment passed and he kept walking down the hall, not once looking back. We kept walking too. Tsuzuki didn't say anything so I didn't either, although sometimes I think he wouldn't know suspicious if it hit him on the head._

—  
tsuzuku 

* * *

_The equivalent of 'well' or 'jaa' in _kansaiben_, or Western dialect, which is spoken by peeps from Osaka like Watari. Hence the accent, which was also inspired by the scientist in Murakami's _Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World_, like much of this story. . . ._


	3. Cave

A window on the southern side of the building was open and the mild night breeze drifted into the long office. A telescope on a tripod had been set up beside it in preparation of the eclipse, but now sat with a neglected look about it, as though it could sigh and mourn its being forgotten. The desks that had been clear a few days ago, subconsciously signifying a momentary and much needed break from work, were once again scattered with old printouts and scribblings taken from obscure files which they had occupied for years. Near one pile, a row of empty Boss Coffee cans from the vending machine down the hall was arranged in a slightly obsessive-compulsive fashion. An old enka record was playing on the hi-fi, which had been dusted off earlier that evening on a nostalgic whim, and a singer with a breathy voice waxed metaphorical on the subject of heartbreak. 

In contrast with the sober tone of the recordings, Watari Yutaka hummed the melody absently to himself and tapped his pen to the rhythm as he attempted to concentrate on the riddle in front of him. However, his mind kept drifting. 

_To that night, twenty-two years ago. . . ._

He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, sighed, put the glasses back on, and turned his mind once again to the problem at hand. The one that he had drawn a couple of figures next to — he couldn't remember who they were supposed to resemble — under the half-formed assumption that it might help him think. He sincerely believed in the notion that the two hemispheres of the brain could sometimes be more productive if they were occupied with two different tasks. In other words, a mentally physical exercise to encourage and increase the frequency of inspiration. It had worked many times before. 

But not tonight. 

"Argh. I must be makin' it more complex than it really is." He got up to stretch and his temple suddenly throbbed as though to prove him right. He winced. "Back in a sec, babe," he said to 003, and massaging the ache he walked over the medicine cabinet. 

003 cocked her head once, then waddled over for a better look at the mess of mathematical formulas lying on the desk. 

"I don't understand," he said as much to himself as the owl at the other end of the room. "I can feel it, the missin' key, like it's on the tip of my tongue, metaphorically speakin'. Like I . . . can't quite put my finger on it. I couldn't've forgotten. Granted, the whole thing was more or less an accident in the first place. . . ." He smiled. "I know. You're thinkin', what else's new, Watari? But it's almost as though . . ." Riffling through the bottles, he found the extra-strength aspirin and tapped two pills into the palm of his hand. He looked up at the soundproof ceiling tiles. "I don't know, really. As though a piece of my mind's gone missin' — No, more like . . . removed. And that's not somethin' you can get back just by thinkin' about it real hard, is it? You know what I mean?" 

003 punched keys on the scientific calculator that had been laid to one side. 

Watari was about to replace the bottle when a thought stopped him. He might need it later on. The way he worked . . . He slipped the bottle into the pocket of his lab coat. 

He laughed. "Nah, I guess you wouldn't. Hell, I ain't even makin' sense to myself anymore." 

Watari took another long look out the window en route to his desk. Something about the moon seemed to tug at him inside. He chalked it up to his excitement. The hour was getting closer, he could feel it. To him the face was starting to look a little yellowed, like bread toasting around the edges. "My imagination seems t' be runnin' wild t'night," he mumbled to himself as he stared. "All this talk about missing pieces. . . . This feelin' like somethin' big's out there, just waitin'. . . . They do say moons like this'll fill your head with hopelessly romantic ideas. And I suppose it's healthy every once in a while. Cathartic, you might say. 

"To yearn for something . . . without havin' t' have a reason. . . ." 

But rather than continue that thought he shook his head and rubbed his hands together with an enthusiastic, if somewhat reluctant, "Well. Back to work." 

When he approached the desk 003 hurried to push the scientific calculator closer to the papers, hopping with the effort. Watari gave the solution displayed there a close look, then gave it another. He blinked. "Well, what do you know. That's it — that's exactly it!" He beamed, and scratched the little owl's head to show his appreciation; and she scrunched up her shoulders in pride and contentment. "What would I ever do without you, Zero-zero-three?" 

He sat back down. Now that he had the solution to that problem . . . 

"Now, what does it mean?" 

—

"Yes . . . yes, sir, I see. . . . I understand. That's unfortunate, truly. But I'm afraid we can't help you tonight—" 

Tatsumi held the phone away from his mouth for a moment to let out a sigh as the Earl of the Castle of Candles continued to plead his case in that affectingly mellifluous tone of voice he used when something needed persuading. "Yes, yes, I understood all of that completely," Tatsumi cut him off, "but it's impossible to get anyone out tonight. They've all been sent home . . . Well, I suppose that's always an option — but don't you think it would be rude to wake them? Unless you want me to take care of it personally—" 

Naturally, the Earl protested. 

"Then it must be able to wait until morning. . . . Yes. Yes, the chief appreciates the gifts. . . ." He glanced at the boxes of smoked salmon and top-grade teas and sweets from Osaka and Okinawa piled on the desk. He picked up one of the former and saw it was imported. Still, it couldn't have been too desperate a situation; the Earl hadn't included any hundred-year-old bottles of wine. He took a deep breath. "Yes, he likes the salmon very much. . . . Er, no, Chief Konoe is not here. It's just me. That is why I'm saying . . . I am aware of everything you've done for this division, and we're all much obliged. 

"All right," he caved before he had to hear why it was so urgent again, "I'll get one of my best teams on it as soon as possible, but I can't say they'll be happy to be given a job in the middle of the night." 

Naturally, the Earl wanted to know of whom that team consisted. 

"Kannuki and Terazuma, of course, sir. I . . . I _know_ you want Tsuzuki but I'm afraid that is impossible this time. He's been sent home . . . No, he wasn't feeling well. . . . No, it's not _that_ serious, but I'm not going to . . ." He rubbed his temple as the man on the other end started to whine. At this point it was no use arguing. "Look, I'll see what I can do. Would that satisfy you?" 

That seemed to reassure the Earl somewhat, though Tatsumi could tell he remained skeptical, as his overly genial tone implied. It was gracious of him to accept that Tatsumi would try to fulfill his wish. "Thank you, sir," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Good-bye." 

He hung up, and the dark look momentarily returned to his eyes. Watson, the Earl's decaying butler, took a step back seeing that, and rubbed his tiny hands together nervously. "Well, Tatsumi-san," he said in his wavering, teeth-rattling manner, "are you going to take Hakushaku-sama's case?" 

Tatsumi looked down at the tiny skeletal man, who tonight was wearing a motorcycle helmet and kneepads in addition to his black suit. His bike, which was about the size of a Power Wheel and still too big for him, complete with a sidecar, was parked next to Tatsumi's desk. 

"I don't see that I have a choice," Tatsumi told him. 

"Oh, good. I mean, I am sorry about the inconvenience, sir. Hakushaku-sama really does appreciate everything the Shokan Division does for him," Watson said with conviction. "He doesn't mean to be so forceful all the time." 

Tatsumi smiled. "I wouldn't say he was too forceful for someone of his kind or position. Actually, childish is what came to mind, if you'll pardon my saying so." 

"Not at all," Watson said with a chuckle like dry twigs snapping, "he's that too, sir. An endearing trait if I do say so myself." 

"I can't help but think he reminds me of someone at times like that." 

"Hakushaku-sama says the same thing, sir. You wouldn't happen to know what he means?" 

"I wonder," Tatsumi said, but in truth he paid the question little mind. He sat down on the corner of his desk and reached for the phone. "Well, I suppose I should call the chief and inform him of the situation." Resting the handset on his shoulder, he opened a box of macaroons that sat on top of the pile. 

Polite to a fault, a hesitant, "Ah," was all that came from Watson as he stared lustfully at the box of confections. Tatsumi held it out to him while the chief's home telephone rang. 

—

Meanwhile, in Hisoka's apartment all was calm. It seemed Tsuzuki had finally been able to get comfortable. Hisoka had decided on some whim to bring his partner here, to offer him his bed, perhaps with the foresight that Tsuzuki might need him sometime during the night. It was preferable to staying at Tsuzuki's anyway, in clothes that smelled like a drunkard's. 

The outfit in question hung on a towel hook in the small bathroom, airing out. Despite the side effect, Watari's stain-removal formula had worked wonders, even to the point where the shirt could be considered clean. It was just that smell . . . It lingered on his skin, lessened but obviously present nonetheless even as he soaked in the tub. Hisoka pushed it from his mind, concentrating on the good feelings the evening had left him with. His coworkers laughing and arguing over a delicious dinner, for example, even though the subjects often left him flushed with embarrassment — a trait he was not particularly proud of at times like this. But at a time like this he didn't want to think. The lapping of the hot water against him when he moved was the only noise, and it soothed him thoroughly. Outside the sound was the gentle hush of an eternal spring, free of annoying crickets and cicadas that always used to keep him up on summer nights. 

After a while, when he began to feel drowsy, Hisoka dried himself off and threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and resigned himself to a night of stiff-necked sleep in the armchair. 

He was surprised to see Tsuzuki awake and sitting in it. 

Tsuzuki flashed him a smile. "Couldn't get to sleep." 

After a moment, Hisoka realized he was staring, and stopped. "Are you feeling any better?" 

"I'm not quite as nauseous. And it doesn't hurt as much when I sit up." 

Tsuzuki put on a brave face. He couldn't fool himself for long, though. "Honestly," he pouted, "I wish I were dead." 

Coming from an expert on pain and suffering, Hisoka was hard-pressed to buy that evaluation. "You don't think you're overreacting just a bit?" he said. "Like Watari-san said, it happens to the best of us." 

"Not to me it doesn't. I have an iron stomach." 

"I find it hard to believe you've never eaten anything that disagreed with you." 

"Plenty of times. I've just never gotten sick. I'm telling you this isn't like me." 

"I know." 

It wasn't just that he could sense it, the sincerity of Tsuzuki's emotions. In all the time Hisoka had known his partner, he had seen him eat such things in such portions and combinations as to give anyone more than just an upset stomach. Never once had Tsuzuki complained. It was a little odd, he had to admit, but surely there was a first time for everything, even in the land of the dead, and there was nothing strange about that. 

He looked over to see Tsuzuki's gaze fixated on him, and became self-conscious. 

"What?" 

"This is really nice of you, you know that? Staying with me and everything." 

"Yeah. So?" 

Tsuzuki ran a hand through his bangs. Was it his condition or Hisoka's imagination, or did he actually, for a moment, look timid? "It's just usually the other way around, that's all," he said. "It feels nice to have you concerned about me. It's not exactly like you. . . . It's kind of cute." 

As he always did, Hisoka blushed. But the resentment he would have felt hearing the same thing in the daylight hours, under more normal circumstances, was absent. Nor did he miss it. He was at a loss. 

He looked away. "Oh," he said. 

"No sarcastic comeback?" 

"I can't think of one." 

Tsuzuki chuckled. There was no longer anything teasing in his smile, or his sideways look, only sincerity when he said, "I really do appreciate everything, you know. Hisoka." 

Then his smile vanished. "What's that smell?" he said. 

"W-what smell?" Hisoka stammered. He hadn't been watching, and now suddenly Tsuzuki was standing and leaning too close for his comfort level. 

"It smells good." Tsuzuki followed his nose to Hisoka, who quickly backed away — but in vain. Tsuzuki casually grabbed his arm. He brought his face close and Hisoka could feel his breath warm on his neck. It actually felt rather nice. "_You_ smell good," Tsuzuki said. There was a certain lustfulness in his voice. The blood rushed to Hisoka's face. "Like . . . Wild Turkey. . . ." 

Hisoka rolled his eyes. Some things never changed. 

"Aren't you supposed to be sick?" he started to say, but in backing away he overestimated the distance between himself and the bed. The back of his knees hit the end, and he was so taken unawares, the next thing he knew he was lying on his back. 

With Tsuzuki on top of him. 

There was utter silence for a long moment save for the dying groans of the mattress, which faded quickly and left them all alone, staring at each other. Tsuzuki's crimson eyes, dark in the dimly lit room, that had been widened with the shock of being pulled off his feet, narrowed gently, as though to be accompanied by a knowing smirk. But there was no knowing smirk. His expression was very serious, if a little bewildered, when he said, "This is awkward." 

Awkward? That only began to describe the situation for Hisoka, who felt veritably trapped beneath his partner . . . and not, he was almost ashamed to admit, in too bad a way. Tsuzuki's hands rested on the mattress on either side of Hisoka's head, his bangs falling forward out of his eyes, which looked tired yet boyishly fresh at this late hour. Hisoka didn't have to look down to see Tsuzuki was straddling his legs; the warmth and pressure of his partner's limbs he could feel through his jeans. Hisoka had never been one for physical contact, however he found tonight he didn't much mind the proximity, laced with the unspoken-of tension of their six years together. He found himself watching Tsuzuki's lips. He turned his head when Tsuzuki did to where his sleeve was still captured in Hisoka's unwitting fist — which he immediately released. It was sheer ridiculousness now that he thought of it, forced even, what had just happened. It was just like one would expect it to be. . . . "Hisoka," Tsuzuki began softly, "I didn't . . ." 

"_No._" 

Tsuzuki looked back at his partner. "Huh?" 

Hisoka had turned his eyes away. "No, I don't believe this," he said to himself. His eyebrows furrowed. "It's too easy." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut. "It's too obvious!" Anyone could see that. This situation was . . . "Unoriginal." 

"Hisoka." 

Hisoka opened his eyes. And meeting Tsuzuki's he caught a glimpse of a longing in his partner's aura. The trite quality of their positions was pushed from his mind by this sensation, which he supposed he found mirrored deep inside himself somewhere. It was quickly rising to the surface regardless of where it came from as Tsuzuki ever so slightly tightened the gap between them; and Hisoka held his breath and the look in Tsuzuki's heavy-lidded eyes made his insides feel like a rendition of Debussy's "Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun". . . . 

Then Tsuzuki's stomach gurgled. 

"Sorry," he sheepishly began, but then the gurgle turned into a growl, which became a rumble. There was a miniature earthquake taking place in his insides. 

Needless to say, the intimacy of the moment died a sudden death. 

"That is _it_. . . !" Hisoka sighed and pushed Tsuzuki off. "Come on, Tsuzuki," he ordered, standing and reaching for his denim jacket. 

Tsuzuki reluctantly followed suit. "Where are we going?" 

"Back to Watari-san's office." 

"Huh?" 

"For a second opinion. There has to be _something_ he can give you," Hisoka said as he grabbed Tsuzuki's wrist and pulled him along with all his strength. He added under his breath, "I am not going to let your indigestion ruin the rest of my night." 

"Hisoka, have you been working— Ow!" Tsuzuki complained as Hisoka unintentionally pulled a little too hard. He was keeping an unkindly fast pace. "Hey, slow down," he whined. "I'm suffering, remember?" 

When they reached Watari's lab, however, the uncharacteristic silence hit them as hard as though they had run into a wall. No greeting was called out as they entered, nor could they hear the clacking of a computer keyboard or experiments being conducted or anything they expected when they dropped by unannounced. Tsuzuki momentarily forgot about his stomachache, and Hisoka braced his mind. Hackneyed as the expression might have been, they would have agreed the office was quiet as a tomb. 

"Watari-san?" Hisoka called out uncertainly. 

"Maybe he's gone to the cafeteria," Tsuzuki said. 

Sure, it must be something like that, Hisoka thought when they didn't see Watari in the first room. We'll just wait here until he comes back. 

Then, as one, they spotted him lying on one of the white hospital beds next to an open window, stretched out as though for a nap. Hisoka moved to wake him up, but Tsuzuki held him back, his expression suddenly sober. It took Hisoka a moment to understand why, and when he did his breath caught in his throat. 

Watari wasn't asleep. He was dead. 

—  
tbc 


	4. Death in Midsummer

_No doubt you must be thinking, this is Meifu, the land of the dead. A Shinigami is dead by definition. And you'd be right, except that there are different kinds of dead. Metaphorical definitions not included, there's braindead, of course, which is not technically dead. A person can be braindead and in a coma, which all but some extremists would agree is still a state of living. Some claim they've died but only part-way and come back to life, usually after a temporary failure of vital functions, calling it a Near Death Experience; but modern science has shown that on a physiological level the accompanying light at the end of the tunnel is little more than certain areas of the brain triggering random lights and memories from a lack of oxygen. _

_On our side of things, the more permanent and nonreversible side, there's dead like Shinigami in which a sort of shadow of the body and mind continue on a different plane of existence, which is not the same thing as the living dead, the reanimation of a corpse. The Maria Wong case we took in '96 was an example of the latter. Almost without exception some external and not entirely well-intentioned force (or, in all my experience, a psychopathic pervert) is involved in these cases. Those are unusual afterlives, however, and most people pass on after their lives have been judged — to where nobody aside from King Enma really knows. Oblivion I hope. Whatever it is, it is the most absolute kind of dead imaginable. _

_Then, of course, there's clinically dead, what people most commonly think of when they think dead. Put simply, vital signs are absent. The body has completely shut down. _

_Watari-san was this last kind of dead._

—

He was lying on his back in a relaxed position. The expression on his long face, which was turned just a bit to his left, was peaceful with only the slightest furrow of his brows to suggest any kind of pain, or perhaps a final release from it. There was an understated quality of sorrow and freedom — otherwise incongruous traits — about his disheveled state. The starched white lab coat had spread out wildly around him against the starched white sheets on the standard hospital cot, rather than being arranged, and the same applied to his long wavy hair, which was unbound. His right hand rested on his stomach, the left on the sheets beside his shoulder. His round glasses had been laid unfolded and upside-down on the tray table beside him, and the window behind that was open to the night breeze. Watari's complexion was pale in the moonlight, but not much if any more so than usual. There was not the slightest trace of blood on or around him, nor signs of assault or puncture wounds. It looked for all one could see like he had dozed off and would wake up at any moment, except for the unnatural stillness of his body. Despite his many encounters with the deceased, this one still made Hisoka uneasy, whether he looked at him or not. This was a special case, he knew, because this time the stiff was someone he had grown close to, a coworker and someone he considered a friend — and someone he realized now he could not imagine being dead. That is, really dead. 

But it was more than that. He could feel something alien about the situation, something that didn't quite fit, and it raised his suspicions. For one, the office hadn't been such a mess of papers and files when they left it hardly two hours before. 003 was missing as well, and it seemed highly unlikely she would voluntarily leave her master in this condition. 

"You said the last time you saw him alive was about nine?" Tatsumi asked again, after he had finished looking Watari over. "The three of you came back here because Tsuzuki was feeling ill. Did you notice anything . . . strange about his behavior?" 

"Strange? Can you be more specific? We're talking about Watari here," said Tsuzuki. 

Hisoka rolled his eyes. "This is serious, Tsuzuki," he said, although he could see Tsuzuki was as well, even if his mouth wasn't hooked up to that seriousness. He was browsing Watari's files and loose leaf notes, looking for anything that might give some kind of insight into his death, while Hisoka tried to answer Tatsumi's questions adequately. "He was acting distracted," he told the secretary. "I mean . . . not normal, right-brain-doesn't-know-what-the-left-one's-doing distracted. His whole mind seemed to be focused on something else. It felt almost like nostalgia." 

"This was your . . . _impression_," Tatsumi guessed. 

Hisoka nodded. "That's what I was able to glean from his feelings. There are still some trace amounts of it here now. But if I had to come to some sort of conclusion, I would say it was nothing more than second thoughts." 

"Second thoughts?" 

"Well . . . You know, when something from the past pops randomly into your mind again and you wonder if maybe you could have done things differently." 

"I understand," the other said, and made a quick note of it for the inevitable report to come. His eyebrows furrowed as he fixed Hisoka with an intent gaze, like he was searching for something more. "That doesn't sound so unusual when you put it that way." 

As Hisoka groped for words, Tsuzuki spoke up. "He said something that struck me as odd. I remember because at first I thought he was talking about my indigestion: Spock-kun." 

"Spock-kun," echoed Tatsumi. 

"M-hm. I'm sure that's what it was." 

"That's right," Hisoka said. "I don't know what it was supposed to mean." 

"I figured he was referring to Doctor Spock," Tsuzuki said. 

"The child psychologist?" Tatsumi turned to him. "Why would he mention him?" 

"Not that Doctor Spock. The character on this old sci-fi television show, looked kind of like Terazuma. 'Live long and prosper' . . . or was it 'nanu-nanu'? Anyway, something like that." 

"That sounds like Watari-san. But what's the relevance?" 

"Probably none, knowing Watari." 

"Mm. . . ." 

While the two looked over the immediate vicinity of Watari's desk, Hisoka scoped out the rest of the room, and for the first time since discovering him dead felt a sense of remorse. People died in the middle of things. They usually didn't go with their affairs in order — not the cases he was familiar with anyway — but with projects unfinished, expectations unfulfilled. Watari had been excited for the eclipse that would now proceed without him. In anticipation of the event a telescope was set up at one end of the room. The papers scattered about the worktables and dumped on top of one another left Hisoka with a sense of yearning and frustration. The hi-fi must have been playing when he died. The record sitting on it was of more enka. Hisoka sighed. That at least partly explained the dark air. 

Meanwhile a bottle of extra-strength aspirin sitting on top of one of the folder piles caught Tatsumi's eye. He shook it. It was empty. Tsuzuki looked up from one of the pages of notes he had swiped from Watari's desk. "Ah," he said with understanding. "Headache, Watari?" 

"Some headache." Tatsumi replaced it and made a note. He adjusted his glasses and gestured to the pad of paper in Tsuzuki's hands. "What is this? Evidence?" 

"It looks like what he was working on when he died." 

The page was cluttered with diagrams and formulas upon diagrams and formulas, some of it hastily crossed out and all of it unintelligible to the two. The complex problems laid out there were beyond their understanding without first cross-referencing Watari's vast and obscure knowledge, but the handwriting was chicken scratch to boot. "I don't know what any of this means, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said. 

"Neither do I," said Tsuzuki. "But check out the margin." 

Tatsumi studied it for a moment as he adjusted his glasses, then stifled a chuckle when it gradually became clear what — that is to say, whom — the doodle in the margin was an image of. "That's not Kurosaki-kun, is it?" 

"Who else?" Tsuzuki said. 

Hisoka looked up. 

"Well, it is rather hard to tell given Watari-san's, ahem, artistic style." Tatsumi very professionally covered his amusement with a cough. "He looks like he's doing karaoke." 

"Yeah, and enka at that." Tsuzuki put one hand to his cheek, wearing a facetious awe-struck gaze as he said, "Alas, that I couldn't see it until now: such soul! Such style! The boy's a natural. What a waste he hates the music." 

Hisoka felt his cheeks burning furiously. "Shut up. Let me see that." He snatched the paper away and studied it closely. The figures were drawn so poorly it was anyone's guess who any of them were supposed to be. It didn't look a bit like him, first of all (the ears were much too big), and second it looked more like whoever it was was eating an ice cream cone in a sparkly suit than crooning old-folks songs. Tsuzuki was beaming, and Tatsumi could not quite wipe the smile from his face. Hisoka would have to thank Watari for this wonderful experience later. 

For now, he thrust the notes back at Tsuzuki, demanding, "Where'd you get that anyway? You're not supposed to move stuff around in a crime scene, idiot. How do you know someone didn't take something when you've been thoughtlessly messing it up?" 

"Jeez, _Terazuma_, can't you take a joke?" Tsuzuki said. A look of hurt crossed his face, but not because of any insult to his professionalism. "Besides, it's not like anyone would want to steal this chicken scratch." 

"How would you know?" Hisoka wasn't really sure why, now that Watari was dead, he had the inexplicable urge to defend the scientist's brilliance, even though it had more than once been responsible for disrupting their own lives. "With all the things Watari-san's discovered and invented . . . There are sickos who would kill to make a quick buck off the work of someone like him, you know — or use it for evil." 

Suddenly he remembered Watari's mention of the suspicious athletes foot patient. And he was about to tell Tatsumi when a feminine voice called out: 

"Hi-i-i-i-i! Hope we're not late!" 

Kannuki Wakaba stepped into the room all smiles, followed by a slightly rumpled and characteristically indifferent Terazuma. "Why would we be late?" he grumbled, cigarette hanging from his lips. "We came as soon as we heard." 

"We stopped at Mr. Donut," Wakaba chirped, and held the cache out to Tsuzuki. 

—Who started and all but hid behind Hisoka at the offer. "Keep them away from me." 

The girl looked at him funny. "What's wrong with you, Tsuzuki-san?" she said. 

"Food poisoning," Hisoka explained, and her mouth made an understanding 'o'. 

Meanwhile, Terazuma was pleading with Tatsumi: "What's the meaning of dragging us out of bed at eleven at night and telling us we have a case? The chief said we could take a break." 

"I know, and I sympathize," Tatsumi said, "but— Are you sure it's wise to have a lit cigarette in this office? —Something of a rather urgent nature came up. You understand how that is. Besides, I doubt you go to bed before eleven, Terazuma-san." 

"Yeah, yeah. It's part of the job description, right? On-call for the rest of the afterlife." Terazuma dropped the butt into the nearest empty coffee can, taking the chance that it wasn't unreasonably loaded with dangerous chemicals. 

"How'd you get here so fast?" Hisoka asked. "Tsuzuki and I just found out fifteen minutes ago." 

"Found out what?" 

"Well . . . that Watari-san's dead." 

Wakaba and Terazuma both started. "He's _dead_?" they exclaimed incredulously together. 

After a moment to let it sink in, however, Wakaba shrugged and Terazuma said, "Makes sense. I was gonna say," he said pointing his thumb at Watari's body, "with all us talking, that guy really sleeps like . . . Well, you know." 

"The dead?" said Wakaba. 

"Yeah." 

—

"So what's this urgent case you have for us, Tatsumi-san?" Wakaba said after a little assurance that the sudden demise of their coworker was no cause for immediate concern. She unpacked the donuts but no one seemed very interested in them. 

"Yeah, where are you sending us?" Terazuma put in. "—And why wouldn't you tell us over the phone? This better not be some sappy schoolgirl suicide inspired by the melancholy of the full moon or cicadas or some stupid schoolgirl crap like that. I'm getting really sick of those. . . . What?" 

The others had gone silent, looking worriedly at Wakaba out of the corners of their eyes. With a tiny cough she pretended she hadn't heard. "I didn't mean . . . Nothing against schoolgirls," Terazuma muttered. 

"I didn't say anything," Wakaba retorted, avoiding his eyes and grabbing a donut. 

"It's just that . . . you know, there's been so many of them lately. . . ." 

Wakaba mumbled something around the donut that the rest thought it might be best not to clarify. 

"So, as you were saying . . ." Tsuzuki, who had taken a seat on one of the lab stools, prompted cautiously. 

"As I was saying." Tatsumi cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure how I was going to say this but given the circumstances I guess I shouldn't beat around the bush. This urgent case actually involves the Earl of the Castle of Candles, and you are to report to his residence for further instructions." 

A stunned silence greeted his words. 

"Look at the bright side: you won't have to leave Meifu." 

"I think I'd rather take the schoolgirls," Terazuma said. 

Wakaba crossed her arms. "This does sound suspicious. Are you sure it can't wait 'til morning?" 

"It absolutely cannot wait," Tatsumi said. 

"What did he bribe you with this time?" said Terazuma. 

"Premium-grade smoked wild salmon from Alaska and macaroons." 

"Ha! it's only a medium-level emergency then," said Terazuma hopefully. "We can take care of it tomorrow." 

"Please, Terazuma-san," the secretary implored, "Kannuki . . . I can't impress on you how important this is. It's not the gifts. You both owe your livelihood to Hakushaku-sama — we all do — and it would only be right to return the favor and help him when he's in need. It's your duty. And more importantly, I gave him my word—" 

"You _promised_ we would do it before you even asked us?" 

Tatsumi nodded gravely. "If you don't take this job, you understand it will reflect poorly on the chief and I. And defending my integrity and the trustworthiness of this office is not something I very much enjoy doing," he said as he looked up, his glasses catching the glare of the fluorescent lights. "Do I make myself clear?" 

Terazuma swallowed the retort that had been on the tip of his tongue. "Crystal." 

"But what kind of job _is_ it?" Wakaba said. 

"Well . . ." Now Tatsumi was the one to seem doubtful. His brows furrowed as he said with some deliberation: "I can't be exactly sure, though he did say you would be fully briefed on arrival. You see, he was reluctant to tell me and Watson seemed to know nothing specific about it. To tell the truth I think he was embarrassed of what I might think of his problem. I don't think he trusts me on a personal level half as much as on a professional one, though I don't know what I did to make him feel that way. . . ." 

"So he could just as well be making it all up!" Terazuma said. 

"I doubt he'd do something like that, and go through all the trouble, but I suppose it is possible," Tatsumi said. 

"He would if he were trying to get _me_ to come over," Tsuzuki said, his chin rested on one hand. "Boy am I glad that, for once, this doesn't concern me." 

"Oh, no, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi began. "Maybe I wasn't very clear. You're going too." 

"_What_?" Tsuzuki nearly hit his chin on the table in surprise. "Wait a minute, Tatsumi," he said, suddenly desperate. "There must be some mistake. I'm sick, remember? I can't go anywhere in this condition." He hugged his stomach to illustrate. 

"You've seemed fine since I've been here." 

"Yes, well," he stammered, "that's because I knew the situation with Watari was more important so I had to put my health momentarily aside for the sake of professionalism—" 

"Good, because this is a very important situation as well." 

"But it still hurts!" 

Tatsumi smiled. "And I'm glad to know that won't interfere with your getting the job done." 

Having no choice but to resign to his fate once again, Tsuzuki slumped in his seat. "Why do I have to go? Why don't you send Hisoka in my place instead?" 

"I wouldn't mind that," Terazuma said, grinning. "We'd get done a lot faster." 

Tsuzuki frowned. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm sure you'd rather go with him anyway, weirdo." 

"Wha . . . What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The blush that spread over the other's face told he wasn't so ignorant, however. "You're one to talk, Tsuzuki!" 

"You know I can't send him, Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said. "The Earl would be disappointed in me." 

"Besides," said Hisoka with an exasperated sigh, having listened to their conversation while he surveyed the room for clues, "that would hardly be fair seeing as I work harder than both of you combined." 

"It's true," Wakaba said. 

"Hey, don't stick me in the same category with this numbskull," Terazuma growled at him, pointing in a rather vulgar manner at Tsuzuki. 

Tsuzuki started. "Who are you calling a numbskull, you oaf?" Terazuma turned and narrowed his eyes at him, and one could almost sense the hair bristling on the back of both their necks and electricity rearing to strike across the room. "You can't really expect me to work with _him_!" Terazuma said. 

"I do," Tatsumi said bluntly. "The Earl asked for him specifically." 

"Figures," Tsuzuki said with a sigh of resignation. Terazuma snickered. 

"Just think," said Wakaba, who could always be counted on to put a positive spin on a situation, "with three of us on the case it should go a lot faster." 

"You really don't know the Earl, do you?" Tsuzuki said. She smiled. 

"And the sooner you get there the sooner you can leave, right, Tsuzuki-san?" Tatsumi added, matching her happy-go-luckiness. "Give me a status report in a few hours, will you?" 

Tsuzuki blinked. "You mean we have to leave now?" 

"Of course. You didn't think I meant 'urgent' in a figurative sense, did you?" 

He sniffed and slid off the stool. "You're so mean, Tatsumi." 

—

As the others discussed the case that the Earl of the Castle of Candles had handed to them, and it quickly became clear his talents would not be needed, Hisoka took the opportunity to look around the office on his own. He was disappointed that Terazuma of all of them had no interest in the case that was right before them, but that didn't mean his skills as a detective should go to waste. Hisoka had made a point of soaking up all of the man's pointers over the years for just such an occasion, because the alternative was relying on Tsuzuki. Not that Tsuzuki was a bad partner, but he was quite . . . outdated. 

He waved a curt good-bye to the three as they left for the Castle of Candles, and Wakaba waved to Watari as well. Hisoka thought sadly that if not for her Terazuma might leave his head at home, and he felt that she and him were very much kindred spirits in that respect. 

After they had left, he went to the window above the bed that had been left wide open. A mild breeze blew through, summer-warm even in this eternal spring, but he shivered. The murderer must have left through that window — and it was possible he came through it as well. He thought of malign spirits that often wandered the world of the living looking for a host or victim but were rarely seen in JuOhCho: they had to be invited in before they could do anything, but Watari would know better than to do that. Maybe his imagination was simply overacting, but all angles must be considered. One thing was for sure, 003 was missing. Whether she had been kidnapped or flown the coop, so to speak, there was no way of telling. In light of all that had happened, however, he found himself worrying about her, although experience told him if anyone could take care of himself it was she. There was too much he didn't know. 

The moonlight streamed in through the open window, it's source out of sight behind the trees, but it was an eerily pinkish light falling on Watari's face and lab coat that made Hisoka's skin crawl, literally. Suddenly he felt the ache of the curses burnt into his skin almost a decade ago flaring up again as they hadn't in years except in his worst dreams. He had hoped he had forgotten that feeling, but it returned as fresh in his mind as though Kyoto was only last weekend. The moon alone, for all the powers attributed to it, could not do that. There was only one thing that could. 

Suddenly it all clicked. The careful disarrangement of the room and body, the chosen night, the open window now clearly not an escape but an invitation . . . all pointed at a single brilliant and sinister mind. 

He knew who the murderer was. 

Something fluttered out of the corner of his eye. On the floor near the bed sat a small piece of paper, neatly folded in the middle forming a little roof that slid across the linoleum with the breeze. It had most likely blown off the bedside table, where it would have been seen by the casual eye and where the breeze would have most easily picked it up. There was something written on it, but not legible from the angle at which Hisoka stood. He bent nonchalantly to pick it up, and facing the open window so that no one might see what he had he read it. 

In small, neat print was a simple message: 

_I'll be waiting on the bridge._

And that was all. . . . 

"Did you find something, Kurosaki-kun?" Tatsumi asked, suddenly close to his ear. Hisoka jumped. How had he sneaked up on him so quietly? Hisoka quickly folded the piece of paper in one hand and slid it inside his sleeve. 

"No," he said quickly. It wasn't like him to intentionally lie to Tatsumi he knew, but then it wasn't like Tatsumi to be so subtle about his suspicion. Just like it wasn't often Hisoka's curses burned and Tsuzuki got sick and one of their coworkers turned up dead. "I thought my shoelaces had come undone." 

He met Tatsumi's eyes. Tatsumi stared back. Not for the first time in his career, Hisoka wondered if those weren't actually some kind of telepathic X-ray glasses the secretary wore. 

Hisoka looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Um, Tatsumi-san," he said, "do you need me here anymore? Because I haven't gone all night and the tea's kind of catching up with me. . . ." 

"I don't need you for anything else." Tatsumi gave him such a worn and gentle smile that Hisoka almost felt bad about deceiving him. Almost. "I have just about all I need to file a report. You should go home and get some sleep." 

"Yeah," Hisoka said. 

He left the room and started down the hall with a certain reverence in his step for the deceased. When he had turned the corner, however, his pace quickened with a sense of urgency. Instead of heading for the exit, he turned in the direction of his office. 

—

_I couldn't believe Tsuzuki and Tatsumi-san — or the others, for that matter. How could they treat Watari-san's death like it was some everyday occurrence when the circumstances surrounding it were obviously sinister? I couldn't believe that I was the only one who cared about what happened to him, because even though they were under stress from the Earl as well it just wasn't like them to just dismiss something so serious. Anyone with half a mind could see that someone had wanted to grab our attention: the mysterious nature of the murder itself, the note . . . _

_'I'll be waiting at the bridge.' _

_I wondered about that note, and what bridge the killer was referring to. There was only one that seemed likely, the bridge with the red stained wood railing in the garden. I had no time to think about the significance of the choice of location. Time was running out. Seeing as no one else cared, it was up to me to stop Watari's killer; and for his sake, and whomever else he planned to hurt, I could not fail to meet him as he demanded. I couldn't help this intuition that the note had been left expressly for me to find, like it was all some sort of game. Which explained 003's disappearance: he must have had her as well. _

_I say 'he' because there was no doubt in my mind who it was. There were several possibilities, but they were quickly eliminated one by one as it became clear from the evidence there was only one person who had the motive and the means to commit such a crime. Whether it was voodoo or chemicals that were to blame, there was only one man who was more than familiar enough with both. _

_Who else but he would have the gall to taunt us with a note like that? Who else was so sadistic, who knew where to strike us? The burning in my skin reminded me how deep my hatred went. It would never go away. I hurried to my office and grabbed the .50 caliber Desert Eagle Mark VII I kept in the top drawer of my desk, and stuck it in the waistband of my jeans under my jacket. This was no model. And even though it was mostly useless against the malevolent spirits that made up a great deal of our trouble, my man was human. At that point I was merely thinking of my own safety, but, standing waiting for the elevator, I can't deny the lust for revenge that was inside me. One way or another, I wanted him to pay for what he did to me and Tsuzuki, and now Watari-san. I wasn't sure I would be able to stop myself, or that I would want to . . . If I were to kill him—_

—

A loud ding, echoing through the deserted silence of the granite-lined hall, startled Hisoka and the elevator doors opened. The fluorescent light and sterile, reflective steel interior that beckoned him inside suddenly seemed so separate from the rest of the building that he worried if he got on now it would take him to another world, with the mysterious stranger for his guide. Indeed, by some strange stroke of luck (or misfortune) the young man in the suit and headphones who had passed them in the hall two hours before now stood in this of all the possible cars. Twice in one night, the same ambiguous expression behind the same set of frames, the same irritatingly nonchalant disposition. For a second Hisoka seriously considered taking the stairs. But then the stranger looked his way and recognized him with a slight smile and an even slighter widening of the eyes, and Hisoka felt compelled by some ingrained fear of social discourtesy to get in. 

He awkwardly maneuvered himself into the car, consciously keeping his gaze pointed anywhere but at the man, and careful to keep a good space cushion between them. He said nothing, and neither did the man, as Hisoka pushed the button for the first floor. The fourth basement light was also on. How far down did the building actually go anyway? he thought anxiously as the doors closed in front of him like the jaws of some great metal beast, locking him in on his ride to the bowels of the earth with the mysterious stranger. 

The car started to move. Utter silence descended but for the faintest whisper of cables. 

Curiosity gnawing on his shoulder, Hisoka tried to look at the man without looking at him. The man stared at the metal doors. The tinny voice inside his headphones repeated the same mantra from before: "I didn't understand . . ." The beat steadily filled the deafening stillness in the car like a drop of dye fills a bucket of water, cloudy tendrils rippling out to the far corners. Building, building . . . 

The trip down the few floors lasted a small eternity. 

With detached clarity, Hisoka could sense himself starting to panic. What if it did go on forever? What if when the car stopped it were to open out onto a field of near-total darkness and isolation straight out of _TRON_? If it came to it, he thought, feeling the weight of the pistol in his waistband, he could take this guy, but another plane of space and time was a completely different kettle of fish. Of course, such a thing defied the laws of physics . . . but in a way, so did his very existence. Change rattled in the stranger's pocket, and his heart skipped a beat. The stranger, unaware of Hisoka's nerves, calmly watched the floor numbers light up above the door. 

At last the one lit up and the doors opened onto the perfectly typical first floor of the building, and Hisoka alone stepped out. The man remained inside, staring at the numbers above the door on his way to the basement. Get a hold of yourself, Hisoka chastised himself. You're letting the night get to you. There're no devils here, no glitches in the space-time continuum; there's only _one_ thing out there you need to worry about and you have the homefield advantage. That thought readied him for what awaited. 

When he stepped outside it was a different story. 

The lunar eclipse was total at this hour, the face of the moon fully red. Now that he knew the perfectly natural and logical cause of the occurrence, Hisoka expected it would not bother him, but he was mistaken. Walking out past the safety of the steps and off the long front walk, out among the cherries in perpetual full bloom that crowded the landscape, the red moon hanging large and low in the sky, it was as though he had wandered into a page from his own history. He couldn't help the whimsical thought that he must be dreaming, or that someone was playing a cruel joke; but he knew as his skin burned with old curses that it was all very real. 

He knew he would see him again — and this time, when he reached the bridge agreed on in the note, he would overcome his fears and finish what he should have had the strength to do years ago. But as it was the eerie air under the cherries that seemed to suck up all sound into the whispering of their petals made him pause, and the bridge seemed very far away. There was something _here_— 

He froze as he heard the sudden voice behind him; it was all too familiar: 

"What a pleasant surprise. My, but this brings back memories. Doesn't it . . . boy?" 

—  
to be continue.. 


	5. The Castle of Candles

Having come so quickly, the threesome of caseworkers paused before the imposing front doors of the dreaded Castle of Candles to prepare themselves for what awaited them inside. It was in part the sense of approaching doom that made the building so foreboding, and one half expected lightning and thunder to strike and throw it into a mass of monumental chiaroscuro. "Well, this is it," Terazuma said, conveying said sense of doom rather well; "The minute we step through this door our vacation is over." 

"What vacation?" said Wakaba. "The chief gave us the day off is all, and it's almost over." 

"Tomorrow doesn't start until seven a.m. as far as I'm concerned." 

"Well, there's no sense crying over it now. Aren't you going to knock?" 

The look Terazuma gave her said, Are you kidding, and then they both turned to Tsuzuki, who had hung back and was somewhat fidgety. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I can't bring myself to do it." 

"Survival instinct," Terazuma said with a nod. 

Wakaba sighed. "You two are pathetic, and you call yourselves men. Fine, I'll do it," she said, forgetting in a precisely feminine way that just a moment before she had been reluctant to knock herself. Swallowing, she was poised to grasp the massive knocker. . . . 

But before she could, the great doors slowly rumbled open little more than a shoulder's width. Out of the darkness on the other side, the cheery — although rather grotesque — face of Watson appeared. 

His mouth opened in a macabre, toothy grin. "Oh, it is good to see you all could make it!" he rattled. "Hakushaku-sama, and I by association, will be so pleased by this, Tsuzuki-san." 

Tsuzuki blushed, and Terazuma cleared his throat, but Wakaba quickly interjected before he could give the butler trouble about downplaying the gravity of giving up a night off: "We had better go inside, don't you think, Watson? Tatsumi said it was an emergency." 

"Of course, of course," he said. "Follow me, please." 

He led them through the dark rooms of the castle to a great foyer large enough to be a ballroom, through the high-mounted windows of which the moonlight of the eclipse poured dim and rosy. Doorways opened off into other rooms presently concealed from them, and two grand, curving, cherry staircases bracketed the lustrous floor, which in turn was of different colors of granites patterned into a kind of directional mandala in the center of the room. The room was elegant and sparsely furnished, and tall candelabras stood about it providing mood lighting that gave an old and mysterious aura. Watson told them to wait there while he notified the Earl of their arrival, and he promptly disappeared through one of the doorways. 

"This place gives me the creeps," Terazuma said in a guarded tone after they had been left alone, and automatically reached for a cigarette. 

"How do you think I feel?" said Tsuzuki even more quietly. He looked rather forlorn, and not all from the occasional gurgle of his intestines. "_You're_ not the target of Hakushaku's questionable attentions every other second." 

Terazuma snickered, and Wakaba shot him a warning look. 

Presently ominous music began to emanate from all around, and the threesome's attention was drawn to the grand staircase as a flash of lightning from the clear night sky lit up the room and caused the shadow of a man to appear on the landing. Thunder followed close behind, accenting the drone of an organ. After a weighty pause during which time he surveyed the group, the figure made his way down the stairs. It would have been quite a dramatic entrance, too, if more of him could actually be seen than a half mask and plain white gloves suspended in the air. 

Then, at last, the Earl of the Castle of Candles stood before them in all his invisible majesty. 

A wide childlike grin on his face, Watson faded out the dramatic music on his boombox. 

"Ah . . . I love that effect, Watson. It never gets old," said the Earl with a humor that clashed completely with the dark atmosphere. 

"That's what you pay me for, sir," rattled Watson importantly. 

"Yes, it is. Keep up the good work, then." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"But I wonder if the lightning might be just a tad overkill." 

"It is rather old hat, isn't it, sir? But it has such a nice rumble." He pushed the thunder-and-lightning button in the wall again, and the reverberation could be felt through the granite floor. "M-m . . . that it does," agreed the Earl as though relishing a fine wine. 

When he turned to the Shinigami it was as though noticing them for the first time. 

"Ah, so good to see all of you could make it at this hour," he said, presumably with arms outstretched in welcome, "on such a night which anyone with any taste should like to spend moon-watching!" (Terazuma cleared his throat.) "They say such a thing only comes around every once in a blue moon, but I suppose in this case red would be more appropriate. And lo, despite it all the Shokan Division comes through for me in my time of need once again. I knew I could count on Tatsumi-san to make good on his promise. He may be a scrooge but he always delivers." 

Tsuzuki had been looking elsewhere, so he had quite a start when the Earl was suddenly at his side, his voice low when he added, "Doesn't he, Tsuzuki?" 

"Eh . . . I don't think I know what you mean by that. . . ." Tsuzuki said carefully, trying to squirm away without seeming too rude. 

The gloved hand firmly grasping his chin in such a tender manner stopped him, however. "Tsuzuki, Tsuzuki," said the Earl in a tone that was at once patronizing and smooth, "baby: what have I done that would make you treat me in such a cold manner? It's been so long since we last met. Could it really have been such a sour note we ended on?" 

"Well, let's see. At the last New Year's party you bought me an ice cream, knowing you could use my weakness for sweets to your own advantage and receive my attention, however short. But," Tsuzuki added before the Earl could attempt to defend his innocent-enough actions, "before handing over the ice cream you made sure it was nice and warm so it would drip onto my pants when we sat down on the bench you cleverly positioned yourself next to, thereby allowing yourself an opportunity to feel me up under the guise of trying to assist me in cleaning up the mess." He nodded, confident in his detective skills. 

The Earl was shocked. 

"Why, Tsuzuki," he said, "I'm shocked that you would accuse me of such a deviant and — and _hackneyed_ plot! You must have misunderstood: I only wanted to do something nice for you. The mishap was mere coincidence." 

"And then there was that other time—" 

"All right, all right," the Earl said, raising his hand. "You made your point. But I assure you if my intent was to feel you up I would not go about it in such a roundabout way." 

"But that's the problem!" 

"Nonsense. If only you understood how perfectly natural it is for me to be curious about every part of your body—" 

"I don't want to hear it!" Tsuzuki covered his ears. 

Terazuma laughed, and this time Wakaba only sighed in sympathy. "I hate to interrupt, Hakushaku-sama," she said, "but you called us here for an emergency?" 

"Did I? Oh, that's right," said the Earl, and the three groaned slightly in exasperation, having seen his coming. "I'm afraid it's still rather embarrassing and might be difficult to explain, but regretfully the situation has gotten out of my hands." 

"That's why we're here," said Terazuma, suddenly professional. 

"And I'm grateful for it, believe me. Please, follow me," the Earl said with a beckoning gesture, "and I'll explain everything to the best of my abilities." 

—

"It all started two days ago when a demon came into my possession. He struck me as a peculiar fellow, not your run-of-the-mill evil spirit, but a fascinating find just the same. I was holding him in my dungeon — which as I'm sure you all know is incredibly secure given the sensitive nature of my work in the Castle of Candles, protected by layers upon layers of spiritual barriers — I was to hold him there for Lord Enma until he could deal with him accordingly. Even though it was just a minor demon, I took all precautions, but somewhere I must have overlooked something for he broke out of his holdings and I was unable to recapture him." 

"And you brought us in the catch it," said Terazuma with a nod. "Piece of cake." 

Tsuzuki wasn't so convinced. "Not to be disagreeable or anything," he said, "but this isn't really in our job description. Wouldn't an exorcist have been better?" 

"Nonsense," the Earl said. "I'm familiar with your record, Tsuzuki. You've defeated your fair share of demons and devils in your career." 

"I was feeling considerably better when I did it, too," Tsuzuki grumbled. 

"Why, what's wrong, Tsuzuki?" It should have been obvious by the way he was standing, slightly bent over, hands on his waist, face a little paler than normal, but the Earl in his thickness probably passed it off as his usual anxiety. 

Then again, perhaps he took it to mean the situation needed more pushing. Suddenly his mask looked more solemn, and his invisible shoulders seemed to slump. "Oh, but I feel simply awful that I was not competent enough to handle the situation myself. You see, I was unable to reach the demon again when he opened up a portal of some sort in the basement and let undead masses through. There are places to which Lord Enma sends dangerous souls that are accessible through the Castle of Candles, but they are all tightly sealed; I have no direct control over them. I don't know how a minor demon with no understanding of the Castle would know how to release them, but that does not change the fact that he has, and he's used its energy to grow in power. The basement was corrupted in a matter of minutes. I was forced to seal off levels B-one through -five and -seven to stop the corruption from spreading." 

"What about B-six?" Wakaba asked. 

"My dear, obviously B-six cannot be corrupted. It's a simple matter of physics." 

"Let me get this straight," Terazuma said. "You want us to go down there and take care of your zombie problem, seal up the portal, which I'm assuming will set everything straight again, and catch this demon of yours." 

"Yes, capture him and return him to me. He should be compliant after his source of power is taken away." 

"But that could take days! And how do you propose we _do_ all this?" 

"It's rather straightforward, isn't it? I'm sure you'll figure it out easily enough." It was apparent by the way the three were looking at him, however, especially Tsuzuki whose lip was about to start quivering, that the Earl did not quite have them. And then when Wakaba tentatively asked why he didn't just go to Lord Enma, since it was his demon in the first place, there was only one tactic to employ, and he happened to be very good at it. "Must I beg you to help me?" he said. "Must I humble myself even more before you understand what a predicament I'm in? Truly I tell you, I never wanted the Shokan Division's help but I have no other choice. Lord Enma will have my hide if he finds out about this, and that's to say nothing about what it could mean for Meifu if this demon's free rein is allowed to continue. Oh, I am so embarrassed!" 

"So, you didn't make up the whole thing just as some excuse to get me here?" Tsuzuki asked sceptically. "Like that time with the mask . . . ?" 

He started as the Earl leaned close to him again, though this time out of another kind of desperation. "I assure you," the Earl said, "I would not make something so dire up. It is a shame that we could not have been brought together under lighter circumstances, but . . ." 

Tsuzuki let out a deep sigh. "Lead the way, Hakushaku." 

"That's the spirit," the Earl said, and brought them to a wing of the library before the doors of a gigantic cabinet, which when opened revealed a walk-in closet lined with all sorts of weaponry imaginable. From swords and bows and pikes, to power tools and heavy artillery, it had everything one could possibly need and then some to face an army of undead, meticulously arranged in chronological order. "You might want to arm yourselves," he said. "Of course, your shikigami and magic should be sufficient . . ." 

"I'm not taking any chances," Terazuma said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he reluctantly passed over more familiar pistols for a shotgun. It was a Franchi SPAS-12, a man's best friend when taking out zombies, which he had grown quite proficient at playing _House of the Dead 3_ on lunch breaks. Wakaba took down a couple of MAC-10's, loaded up, and stuck them in the waistband of her sailor skirt along with a couple extra magazines with a natural flair that made her partner stare. "So, you like schoolgirls with automatic weapons, huh?" she asked him playfully. "When they're not being all melodramatic?" 

"Yeah. Damn, I just wish I'd brought my sunglasses." 

The Earl pulled down a hideaway rack of them, and Terazuma was like a kid in a candy store, albeit an unnecessarily serious one. Disappointed, Wakaba frowned and proceeded to remove an antique-looking halberd from the wall as well. 

"It's a maze down there, so use this GPS to find your way around," the Earl continued, handing Tsuzuki said device. "It has a tracking feature as well that will alert you when you get close to the demon. You should find him on the fifth floor of the basement where the records are kept. When last I saw him, he was trying to get into the file room, but it should be quite a while yet before he can manage to break through the firewall." 

"This really is urgent, then," Wakaba said. 

The Earl nodded. "You should also know the demon's name if you are to apprehend him successfully. Knowing it gives you power over him that otherwise would be lacking, so make sure you remember it. His name . . . is Fluffy." 

"_Fluffy_?" the three exclaimed together. 

"Tell me that's an anagram," said Terazuma. 

"Don't let his name fool you," the Earl said. "He can be a real rascal. Oh," he pointed: "and there's no smoking in the basement." 

"Tch." Terazuma's eye twitched. 

"Watson will take you downstairs when you're ready," said the Earl. He gestured sweepingly toward the grand black marble fireplace, the inside of which — plenty large enough for a group such as theirs — now appeared to be an elevator. Standing at the controls was Watson with a giant grin on his face as he waved. (It seemed he never let anything damper his mood, even the undead roaming the basement.) "I wish you all the best of luck. My castle — and my livelihood, I fear — depend on your success. Are there any last questions?" 

The three turned as Tsuzuki stiffly raised his hand. "Yeah. Where's the toilet?" 

—  
TBC 


	6. Strange Meeting on the Bridge

Notes: Thanks to Kara Angitia and Sagiri and Bekquai, and That Guy Who Died and the Blackened Rose, and Literary Eagle my faithful reviewer. Your reviews mean a great deal to me. Thank you very much, Meritite, for notifying me of errors in the last chapter. I have corrected them. How embarrassing, but I guess that's what I get for rushing. 

* * *

The words, spoken in that hauntingly familiar voice so near his ear he could feel warm breath on his neck, echoed inside Hisoka's mind, simultaneously seductive and repulsive — reaching out like they had fingers with which to grab hold of him, caress him. For a tentative moment that voice threatened to take him over again; but, determined, he shook off its hold and leaped forward, whipped the pistol from his waistband with a small growl as he turned, and pointed it at where he had been, only half convinced the man he had heard would be there in the flesh and not an illusion of the eclipse. He did not need to see him in order to confirm that it was Muraki, but that did wipe any doubt from his mind that he might not have been real. 

A look of calm bewilderment on his face, Muraki slowly raised his hands. "Now, boy, no need to do anything rash," he said gently, like one speaking to a stray animal. 

Hisoka ignored the tone. 

"Who said anything about being rash?" he said impudently. "I'm just taking every precaution." 

The other was silent. He was dangerous, that was certain, but Hisoka had matured plenty as well in the last nine years — the last six — in what he was capable of. They stood that way, regarding each other in the heavy air beneath the cherry trees — anticipating. At last Muraki chuckled, and Hisoka tightened his grip. "What are you doing here?" he said before Muraki could say anything that might make him forget himself. 

Muraki sighed, his shoulders briefly shifting under his long coat. "You tell me. Why did I come here, on this night of all nights? By what coincidence did I run into you here? Fate is generous and cruel." When he lifted his eyes, flashing silver behind glasses, the old smirk was planted firmly on his lips. 

"I thought you were dead," Hisoka said. "You should be dead." 

"Yes, I should have been. Tell me: have the marks I've cursed you with gone away?" Muraki seemed to take his silence as an affirmative for he said, "I unwittingly did myself a favor there. It remains a hypothesis of mine, and I have no evidence for it other than the mere fact that I'm standing here: but it seems that as long as you've been here, boy, in this Bardo, I've been able to escape death." 

"You mean, my existence is what keeps you alive?" Hisoka said with disbelief. A thought came to him, tickling a sadistic vein, and he renewed his aim. "All right," he said, "let's prove it." 

Muraki stood waiting with his hands in his pockets, apparently unmoved, but some sense of panic flashed briefly and barely noticeable across his eyes that satisfied Hisoka somewhat. 

"No." He lowered the pistol a bit. "I can't kill you. Not until you tell me why — why you did it." 

The other blinked. "Why I did what?" 

"Don't play games with me. You and I both know what you did." 

"What?" Muraki said with a shake of his head, a breathy chuckle. "You mean to those women in Kyoto, because I thought that was obvious. Or are you talking about yourself? Did I do something else when I arrived here of which I am unaware?" 

"Stop it!" said Hisoka. "Just . . . cut the bullshit and tell me why you killed him! What did you want with Watari-san?" 

"And Watari-san is . . . who?" 

"The doctor in our division, of course, the one with long hair and glasses. The man you murdered!" 

"Oh. I think I remember him now. . . . But I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't murder anyone — which is a first for us, isn't it?" 

The amusement that he did not even bother to hide disgusted Hisoka, and his finger itched to pull the trigger. If only it could have been just about his own personal revenge, just once. "This isn't a laughing matter," he said, gritting his teeth. "I know you did it. I figured it out. You're just trying to make me feel foolish and naïve, like you always have, feigning ignorance; but I know better. You're the only one who could have — who would have done such a callous thing. You chose a fellow man of science as a lure, too devious to go directly to the source. You made it look natural — but the whole thing reeks of the time you faked your own death. You left the note . . ." Its brief message flashed across his mind. "But something's wrong. You said to meet you at the bridge. Unless I got to you before you could get there. . . ." 

"You see? That's it," Muraki said. "I can't be your perpetrator because, this being my first time here, I don't know of any bridge. Now, why would I write you a note telling you to meet me someplace I don't know?" 

Hisoka searched his mind. It had to all fit, somehow. He must be working with someone, he thought. That friend in Kyoto? —No, it couldn't be an inside job, someone from Meifu. Then again, wouldn't it be just like Muraki to throw him off guard with a little white lie, change a few details in his story? 

Muraki sighed. "You really don't believe me." 

"Why should I, after all you've done?" 

"I suppose that's fair." 

"At least tell me what you've done with Zero-zero-three," Hisoka said. "I know you took her, you bastard, and you better not have hurt her! She's just a little owl, for God's sake — and don't say 'What owl?'!" 

His silence said it for him. 

Hisoka swore under his breath. "What are you trying to prove?" he said, frustration edging into his voice that he resented. Why couldn't he be as calm as Muraki in such a situation, as strong, as he'd been trying so hard the last four years to be? "If your goal was to get to us, you've done it. All right? But it's gone far enough. Muraki! I'll listen to your demands, whatever, just leave my coworkers and their friends alone!" 

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," Muraki said again. "One of your colleagues is dead; I gather that much. But other than that, I'm afraid you've lost me with this talk of . . . _owls_. You accuse me of playing games, but if anyone is playing games it's _you_, boy." 

Hisoka started. He hadn't wanted to, and it wasn't as though something in the other's demeanor had changed, but now somehow he found himself believing Muraki — if only just a little bit. But it pained him to think he had been wrong, because if that were the case . . . 

"Then . . . who killed Watari-san?" 

"I don't know." For once the smile that appeared on Muraki's lips seemed genuinely tender, not twisted at all but introspective and maybe — although he might have been imagining it — sorry. "Maybe your friend on the bridge; maybe no one. Frankly, all I know is that I'm here, in this . . . Purgatory, and that being here, like it was destined, has afforded me an opportunity I didn't know I desired: to meet a certain person again after four years, face to face." 

Hisoka gritted his teeth. "Well, he's not here." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Tsuzuki. He's not here. He's on assignment. Isn't he who you wanted to see?" 

"No." Again, a breathy chuckle that Hisoka resented as belittling. "No," Muraki said wistfully, "he still haunts me, but no. And it isn't you either, boy. Sorry to disappoint." 

"Then who?" 

"My equal." 

Stunned by the obscurity of his words and secretive smile, Hisoka lowered his pistol. Equal? Who was he talking about, his equal? A breeze gathered, picking up scattered blossoms as it blew past them between the trees. It blew his bangs into his eyes, distracting him for a moment so he did not see the tenuous shadows of the cherries jump in such a way, however slight, that they shouldn't have. 

Suddenly Muraki's eyes went wide. "He's here!" he said. 

And Hisoka regained a clear line of sight only to see his nemesis raise his arms about himself and become enveloped in a translucent flash of light. A clash too nebulous to make out, like the cloudy darkness permeating the sparkle of the Milky Way, whooshing as it was rebuffed, caused him to stumble back, bringing his own arms up before his face in self-defense. The abruptness of it and the flurry of petals that followed like a tiny blizzard disoriented him temporarily, and he latched onto the authoritative voice the called out strong and clear: "Watch yourself, Kurosaki-kun!" 

"T—Tatsumi-san?" 

He looked to his right and saw the secretary standing there amid the settling blossoms, a seriousness etched into his features that one only ever witnessed when the lives of his coworkers, or the office's budget, were on the line. A tendril of shadow like an inky mist curled and undulated around his extended right arm like a thing alive, just as it had that night Mariko's friend was killed. Though Tatsumi rarely used his gift and was loath to speak of it, everyone knew what it was — what he was, _kagetsukai_, a manipulator of shadows — and the rumors, hardly rumors, of how powerful his talents truly were. That did not make it a less awesome sight for Hisoka to behold. The rarity of such a talent. The utter coolness of the bookish secretary when he was about to kick someone else's ass. 

"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi barked, watching him out of the corner of his eye, "are you hurt?" 

Filled with admiration for Tatsumi's dramatic entrance — and concern — Hisoka could only swallow and shake his head. 

"Good. Now, go. Quickly. Get far away from here! I'll take care of everything." 

"But, Tatsumi-san—" 

"Do as he says," Muraki said then. The passion in his voice was dangerous, deranged in its calm excitement. "This doesn't concern you, boy. It's between me and the good secretary." 

Beneath the sheath of shadow, Tatsumi's fist tightened. There was malicious intent in his blue eyes that truly frightened Hisoka, and made him glad he was not its target. He understood now what Muraki had meant by his equal, but if that was what Muraki truly believed he was deluding himself. 

The tension in the air was growing to maddening heights. He could feel it like pins pricking his skin. Anger and curiosity, hate and excitement: these powerful emotions invaded his mind even as he raised his defenses. Their skill levels were both so great some amount of destruction was inevitably to follow. He understood: he would just be in the way if he stayed, some leverage for Muraki if he should choose to utilize him — and he could not let Tatsumi's actions be in vain. Thank you, Tatsumi-san, Hisoka thought hard, hoping his appreciation might reach the secretary, and he disappeared into the grove. 

Shadows raced to the place he had abandoned, closing off the way he went. Muraki glared at his opponent, but Tatsumi mistook his meaning. 

"I will not allow you to torment my friends any longer," he said. "Nor can I ever forgive you for what you've done to them already. Muraki-san, you are a villain." 

Muraki laughed. "You flatter me, Mr. Secretary." 

"I should have disposed of you when I had the chance, but circumstances prevented me. I do hope you realize that by coming here, to _my_ plane, you have afforded me a wonderful opportunity, and this time I will not waste it. There is nothing to stand in my way now." Tatsumi pushed up his glasses with his free hand, and the soft rattle of the lenses in their frames was a sound as anticipatory as the cocking of a gun. "Prepare yourself, Muraki-san," he said. "If you wish to survive, you will have to defeat me." 

The wide grin was slow to form on the doctor's face, as he mentally ran an inventory of what surprises were up his sleeves, some which made griffins look like small potatoes. . . . 

"I assure you," he said, "I look forward to it." 

Then the shadows surged toward him once again, edges sharp as a guillotine's blade. 

—

The sounds of their conflict faded behind him, and Hisoka slowed his pace to a walk before stopping all together. He looked back the way he had come, and prayed Tatsumi would be all right. He hated to abandon him with that monster, Muraki, when it was his problem to begin with, but he could not refuse an order. Nor Muraki's wishes. But a low fog had begun to roll in to separate him from them, obscuring the already hazy outlines of the cherry branches, and thankfully the blood-red moon as well. Only the gentle fall of petals interrupted the air, and the black and gnarled trunks of the trees seemed more like sentient beings than ever. All that had been written about them over the centuries, their otherworldly nature that made them appear like ghosts in the moonlight, spitefully watching anyone who happened into their own timeless plane, seemed now starkly true. 

As Hisoka turned in the direction of the bridge once again, something rumbled in the distance among them. Tatsumi? he wondered, and his rational mind tried to convince him that was all it was: the aftershock of some shadow attack. But it rumbled deep in the earth; he could feel the ground vibrating in a rhythm that was too steady for that to be the cause, or to be natural. The cherries themselves seemed to moan about it, whispering to one another with their branches. Something was moving out there. Something very big. 

It's nothing, Hisoka told himself; remember the note and keep moving. A thousand explanations could come to mind, born of superstition like the same ones that told children there were monsters in the closet. If it wasn't Tatsumi and Muraki, surely it was pipes underground. They had received a notice of work to be done in the sewers last week, hadn't they? 

He turned once again, setting off in the direction of the bridge; but he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. 

In the crotch of a tree, unseen by him or anything else that prowled the night, a small figure crouched and watched — and then disappeared in the haze. 

The bridge Hisoka had in mind was in fact the only one in the immediate vicinity of their offices he knew of. It had a red lacquer finish and was constructed in an arch, and stood over a little stream in the Chinese garden where carp were kept. It was mostly used for photographs and small parties as it was a quiet and idyllic spot away from the office bustle. It seemed like an oasis to Hisoka on this night. The haze didn't permeate this place, and the tall maples that enshrouded the garden were not nearly as ominous as the cherries. The clear and delicate green of early spring, tiny budding whirly-gigs attached to the underside of branches, was peaceful and grounding combined with the trickle of the stream and blocked out the moonlight well. A few well-placed rocks and pagodas gave the garden a stable air that he found he much needed as he made his way along the crooked path to the bridge. 

As it came into view, he stopped. There was indeed someone standing there. The person's back was turned, but he could see he or she was about the same size as Hisoka, maybe a few centimeters taller. But the outfit was what caught his eye. It was a white lab coat, and it hung awkwardly on the stranger as though it were too big. He knew that it must have belonged to Watari; though there were dozens of others in Meifu who would have need of a lab coat, none of them would also be wearing a pair of Watari's shoes. 

A sudden spark of fury led Hisoka onward, his fists clenched, toward the person he was convinced must be the murderer. 

At the sound of his footsteps, the stranger turned. And Hisoka was startled by the very unexpected vision that confronted him. 

The person wearing Watari's lab coat and shoes — and, it was now clear, nothing else — was actually a striking young woman who looked to be no older than the man whose clothes she wore. Also like him her frame was narrow, almost birdlike, though it was clear even under the shapeless lab coat that she had a feminine figure. She held herself with confidence and demure sophistication, but there was a frank, outgoing quality to her posture as well, mirrored somewhat in the devil-may-care wildness of her unkempt hair. On second thought, its unruliness was not due to neglect but a natural way to it that left her tawny mane in a perpetually ruffled state. Symmetrical cowlicks made the short hair on the sides turn up and out like little ears or horns, which for some reason Hisoka immediately found endearing in contrast to the somewhat aloof intelligence in her features. Her small mouth opened in a coy gasp when she saw him; her large, pale golden eyes grew larger still with recognition. 

"Hisoka! Am I glad to see you!" she exclaimed, and before he knew it she had closed the distance between them and thrown her arms around his shoulders. 

He froze. 

Her voice was like wind blowing over the lip of a jar, rich and airy and agreeable, with just a hint of a rough Western lisp. Her familiar grip was anything but delicate, and the sensation of her breasts pressing against him through the material of the lab coat was certainly pleasing though entirely inappropriate behavior for a stranger. The feeling was new to him; that is, when Saya and Yuma glomped him he never gave much thought to anything besides getting away. When she stepped back, his eyes traveled unwittingly to the cleavage that was visible in the V of the lab coat's collar. "This means you got my note," she said. 

"Note?" Hisoka asked breathlessly. 

She nodded. 

He raised his eyes as the truth sunk in. "You left the note? You mean, you were there when Watari-san died?" 

"Yes, in a way, but not really," she said, blinking, and completely ignored the pressing question that he had quite obviously implied with the other. "To be honest, I had expected Tatsumi-san to find it, because it would have been less complicated if he had, but it's okay: I like you too. You have nice hands." She cocked her head, grinning. 

Her familiarity was unnerving. 

"Do . . . do I know you?" Hisoka asked with just a bit of panic. 

"Of course; don't be silly," she said, then thought it over, pouting. "Oh, that's right. You probably don't recognize me. You've never seen me like this before, have you? It has been a while . . ." 

"Like what?" he said. "Who are you?" 

She chuckled, and shook her head as though taking his confusion as a clever joke. 

"I'm Zero-zero-three." 

—  
Until next time . . . 


	7. The Dungeon

The ancient mechanics of the fireplace elevator groaned and grated as the car slid down the shaft, into the very bowels of the Castle of Candles. They had been delayed slightly in getting going due to the goings on in the bowels of Tsuzuki, but as that was a private matter, all that matters is it greatly dampened his and Terazuma's mood, which had already been dampened by having to come to work so late at night. Oddly enough, though, the deeper they went the more excited Wakaba became. Though she did not in the least match Watson's frozen, lip-less, ecstatic grin of making himself useful, there was certainly an air about her not too unlike common Japanese schoolgirl estrus, only packing a more lethal kind of heat. 

The car finally jolted to a stop, and Watson cranked the lever and called out: "Basement level one! First-level kitchens, winter pantry and wine cellar, boiler room, janitorial closet, elephant factory, rooms of mystery, surveillance and thingamajigs!" He didn't actually have to yell but naturally it went with being important. "Restroom's down the hall to your left, then two rights, Tsuzuki-san, then a sharp left, down a half flight of stairs, at the very end of the hall under the mounted swordfish." 

"Thank you, Watson," sighed Tsuzuki. 

"What?" said Terazuma. "You mean after all that we only made it to the first floor?" 

"Ah . . . yes," said Watson after rechecking the floor number, completely missing the rhetoricalness of the question. 

"Oh, cheer up, Hajime," said Wakaba when the tiny butler closed the doors and waved encouragingly as he ground his way back up the shaft. "Think of it as an adventure. How many times do you get a chance to really explore the Castle of Candles? —And at least you and Tsuzuki don't have to wear safari shorts this time." 

"That's true," said Tsuzuki. 

While Terazuma looked at her as though she had just committed high treason and grumbled about cheering up, Wakaba turned to Tsuzuki, who had been entrusted with the GPS. "So, which way do we go?" 

"We have to find some way to get to the fifth level, and since we can't take this elevator—" He gestured to the one from which they had come as he consulted the map. "—we need to find a stairwell or something leading down, so . . . this way." Looking up, he pointed down the one hallway of all those available to them that was particularly dark and ancient, with cold, stone walls and lit only by torches mounted at regular intervals on the walls, and the complete opposite of the clean, brightly lit, modern landing on which they presently stood — and sweatdropped. "You've gotta be kidding me," said Terazuma under his breath. And they all had to admit the situation was rather stereotypical. However, with no choice in the matter and a mission to carry out, they trudged on into the dank dimness. 

As they traversed the hallway with only the sound of their footsteps to keep them company, a slow, melancholy melody Western audiences might have mistaken for the MIDI version of "House of the Rising Sun" began to emanate from an unknown source. They rounded several dark corners, doubling back many times and coming in contact with poor layout choices, prompting Tsuzuki to state the obvious, that the place _was_ a maze. When at last they came to a fork, Wakaba suddenly stopped, said excitedly, "Look!" and pointed to a sign hanging high up on the wall. "'Dungeon,'" she read. 

"What does it mean?" said Tsuzuki in a Sherlock Holmes-like manner. 

"Are we in the dungeon already?" said Terazuma, checking the GPS. 

"No," said Wakaba. "Don't you see? We're in the dungeon interface of the map. This is so cool." 

The men gave her a strange look as they did not see anything exciting in the word 'dungeon'. "You seem awfully chipper, Kannuki." 

She just smiled knowingly. "It's all about perspective. In case you gentlemen haven't noticed, this is just like an RPG." 

"What's an . . . arpeegee?" said Tsuzuki. "Is that Italian?" 

"And what do you know about role-playing games?" Terazuma asked his partner, ignoring Tsuzuki. "I don't see how your medieval romances concerning a bunch of unrealistic pretty boys could possibly compare to the gravity of this situation." 

"Maybe you wouldn't understand, Hajime, if your knowledge of the genre is limited to love sims. I'm talking about the classics: Final Fantasy, Chrono Trigger, Persona. Come on. A portal in the the fabric of space-time, zombies in the basement, a final boss, unrealistic map configurations, dynamic soundtrack . . ." Wakaba clasped her hands in wonderment. "If we're lucky, maybe we'll even get into some random encounters!" 

Terazuma rolled his eyes at her naivety. "Kannuki, there's no such thing as random encounters. Anyway, Hakushaku told us to take care of the zombies and find the demon Fluffy. Don't you think something as important as that would have been part of the briefing?" 

"Believe what you want," Wakaba said. 

"Okay, O fearless leader, where do we go now?" 

Wakaba consulted the GPS and after a moment said: "One of these passages must lead to the stairwell, but for some reason the signal gives out around this area and it won't tell us which one. All it says is 'rooms of mystery' in big letters." 

"'Rooms of mystery,'" said Tsuzuki. "I wonder what that means." 

"It's a mystery," said Terazuma. 

"Whatever it is," said Wakaba, "I suggest we split up and meet back here. We can cover more ground that way, and if this is anything like an RPG we might be able to get items in these so-called mystery rooms—" 

"But what if we get lost?" said Tsuzuki. 

"This is hopeless!" Terazuma said suddenly, startling the others. "We're not going to get anywhere making shit up as we go along. What we need is a good, solid plan. Now, what I suggest is this: we go back the way we came, locate the wine cellar, and sit and plan this thing out thoroughly with a nice octogenarian. Maybe a Cabernet Sauvignon." 

"Wah!" said Tsuzuki happily, "for once you and I agree on something, Terazuma. Good plan!" And he turned to head off in that direction. 

Wakaba snatched his ear. 

"Not while we have an obligation to Hakushaku-sama, it's not. The only place you two are going is down those corridors," she said. "You're shinigami, aren't you? Well? What's the worst that could happen?" 

—

Terazuma still thought it was a bad idea, splitting up and letting Kannuki take the GPS with her. At least there was no one to get on his back for smoking down here after the earl had said it wasn't allowed. How else was he supposed to find his way back to the rendezvous point? He lit up from a taper sitting in an alcove, and wondered vaguely if it too wasn't somebody's soul. Well, if it was, he decided, surely that person would understand how important this was. Like Theseus in the Minotaur's lair — or perhaps Hansel and Gretel would have been a more appropriate analogy — he decided he would leave a trail of ashes to guide his way back. Unfortunately they just blended right into the stones. He took a deeper drag to calm his nerves. 

In short time he came to a nondescript door. He hated to admit Kannuki might have had a point about the whole RPG thing, but he decided to check it out anyway. He turned the handle and gave it a push— 

However, what opened out before him was an ordinary urban park vista: A tiled ground as far as the eye could see, in which were round holes that held straight, planted trees; bright summer sky above and a warm breeze; benches and brightly colored kiosks from which emanated sweet, warm smells that made him feel inexplicably good all over. In the middle of it all stood a couple of small, hard plastic animals mounted on springs and some coin-operated vehicles painted primary colors. 

"What the—" Terazuma started. He remembered this place. He used to beg his parents to bring him here when he was a little kid. But what was it doing here, of all places, in the basement of the Castle of Candles? 

—

Tsuzuki groaned and bent over as his insides cramped again. This had to be the worst night ever. He should have been at home in bed — anywhere but here, but as usual no one cared. Maybe he didn't make a show of his diligence on a daily basis like Hisoka, but that didn't mean he didn't pull his weight. Heck, he had seventy-seven years on the force. Didn't that entitle him to a little sick time? 

Right now, he determined, he could get by if he could just sit down for a few minutes. He opened the next door he came upon, thinking there had to be someplace inside he could rest a while off his feet, or at least get away from the song that kept playing over and over again in the corridor and have some peace and quiet, if only for a few minutes. 

As he closed the door behind him, a hundred voices all exactly the same said— 

"_Tsuzuki!_" 

Tsuzuki jumped. He looked up and started again. "Hi— Hijiri!" he exclaimed. Standing before him, crammed into the room, were several dozen Hijiris, all staring at him with some variation of happiness on their identical faces. And Tsuzuki for his part didn't know whether to be relieved, excited or very scared. "W-what are you doing here?" he asked, wondering if he should be referring to them as singular or plural. 

"I came to see you, of course," said one. 

"Yeah, don't be silly, Tsuzuki," said another. 

"I said I liked you, didn't I?" said yet another, and then they all started repeating it, crowding closer. "I like you, I like you, Tsuzuki," went the Hijiri chorus. 

And Tsuzuki actually kind of liked it. 

—

Meanwhile, Wakaba had managed to find nothing helpful down her own corridor. Most of the rooms of mystery she came across held nothing but rampant — and rather disgusting — licentiousness so that she was forced to quickly shut one door after another almost as soon as it was opened. 

At last she came upon one with a sign which indicated it was the Velvet Room. A name that sounded perverse, to be sure, but in fact it was draped in blue tapestries and held a grand piano, next to which a pale woman with a large, pointy headdress sang an aria. An old man with a hunched back and unequally-sized eyes approached when he saw her and said, "Welcome to the Velvet Room. I'm Igor. What can I do for you today?" 

"Um," Wakaba started after staring incredulously for a few moments, "I'm kind of new down here and I was wondering if you could help me out." 

"And what would that be with?" said the man called Igor. He had a scratchy voice albeit one that was not unlikeable. "Astrological advice, perhaps? It is quite an extraordinary moon out tonight, ripe for all sorts of irregularities. Or would you like me to take a look at your cards?" 

"Cards? Oh, no," she said kindly. "None of that. Actually, I'm just looking for the stairs that lead down to the next floor." 

"In that case, take a right out of this room, follow the corridor down to the second right from the end, and that should take you right to it." 

"Thank you so much," Wakaba said with a short bow, and headed back the way she came. Irregularities, huh? That was an understatement. Before she could turn toward to the rendezvous point, however, she spotted a door marked Security across the hall, and opened it to find a small three-headed pug turn one of its cute, squished faces toward her. The others were busy watching the wall of surveillance monitors that stretched up in front of it. Patting the dog on its heads, she took a look for herself in case there was a camera on the stairwell that might confirm her directions. What she saw instead disturbed her. On one monitor, Terazuma rocked blissfully back and forth on a toy horse that was much too small for him, and on another Tsuzuki melted under a throng of Hijiris. "Oh no," she groaned. "Guess I have to go rescue them." 

"Urf!" said the miniature cerberus in encouragement. 

She reached the Room of Childhood Regression first. The smells of fried food and the sounds of children's laughter were so realistic, and the sky seemed to go on forever, that for a moment she thought she really was in a park in the living world. Then she caught sight of Terazuma and snapped out of it. "'Cause when I look inside my heart," he was singing rather flatly as he rocked on the horse, which was intended for such a smaller person that his bent knees almost touched his chest— "And I tell the truth to me . . . _Loud and clear my soul cries out with total honesty_—" 

"Hajime-chan." 

He started and looked up at her with a grumpy expression. "Whaddo you want?" 

"It's time to go, Hajime-chan," Wakaba said in a register reserved for children. It felt rather queer using it on a grown man, but when in Rome . . . "Say good-bye to the horsey." 

Just as she had suspected, he wrapped his arms around the horse's neck and held on for dear life. "I dun wanna!" 

Wakaba sighed. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this," she said, "but you leave me no other choice. . . ." And she promptly retrieved a fuda and stuck it to his forehead. 

"Ack!" he cried, nearly falling off the horse as it jerked backwards on its spring under his weight. He shot her an angry, violated look. "What the hell did you do that for? Kannuki!" 

At least he was back to normal. 

Slowly he looked around the park, seeing it as if for the first time. "Where am I?" 

"The Room of Childhood Regression," Wakaba explained, crossing her arms. "It took your memories of childhood and recreated them here in order to trap you." 

"I see." Terazuma peeled the fuda from his forehead and rubbed the point of contact. "Where's Tsuzuki?" 

"Trapped in his own delusions. We have to go get him: I found a way down to the next level." 

When they opened the door to the room Tsuzuki was being held in, however, they automatically cringed. "What the hell?" said Terazuma. It was a cacophony of teenage-boy voices all gushing over Tsuzuki. Those doppelgangers that could get close to him were hugging and groping, and all had great, big exuberant smiles on their youthful faces. Their happiness might have been rather innocent in nature for phantoms, but something about the situation was not. Tsuzuki was trying politely to ward them off, however it was obvious to the other two shinigami that he was enjoying the Hijiris' attention more than just a little bit. 

When he saw them, he called melodramatically, "Wakaba-chan, save me!" 

"It's a delusion!" she yelled back at him, trying to push through the crowd of tightly knit boys to reach him. "They're a product of your imagination. You have to fight their spell!" 

"Why don't you just blast them?" Terazuma asked her. 

"Are you kidding? There's too many. I'd be wasting fuda." 

"Then blast the source. Never mind, I'll do it." And he whipped out his shotgun and aimed it at Tsuzuki. 

Wakaba started and kicked him backwards out the door. "Hajime, what are you doing? You can't shoot your own teammate!" 

"Why not?" he whined. "He's just going to respawn anyway." 

A second later Tsuzuki stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A used fuda fluttered smoking from his hand. "What was that?" he asked. His chest was heaving and his jacket a little torn. "Where did they all come from?" 

"That was the Room of Hundredfold Magnified Unconscious Desire," Wakaba said, pointing to the string of Chinese characters beside the door. 

To their surprise, Terazuma laughed out loud. "So," he said as he picked himself up off the floor, "let me get this straight: Tsuzuki's unconscious desire is a teenage boy? Man, I knew it. He _is_ a pervert!" 

Tsuzuki turned red as a beet. "It's not like that at all!" he said. "It's just that . . . Hijiri saved me a while back — and he's a really sincere person— I just wanted someone to appreciate what I'm going through." 

"Uh-huh." 

"I think it's sweet," said Wakaba, "that two guys can be sensitive with each other." 

". . . Don't tell me you're one of _those_ girls," said Terazuma, pointing rather rudely at her. 

"One of _what_ girls, Hajime?" said Wakaba, putting her hands on her hips. "Come on, we're wasting time here. While you two were playing I found a way down to the second level." 

"Thank God," said Tsuzuki as they followed Wakaba back out of the corridor. "I never want to hear the words 'mystery' and 'room' in the same sentence ever again." 

As they approached the stairs, Wakaba said out of the blue, "Hey, Tsuzuki, can I ask you a question: Is Hakushaku-sama naked under his mask?" 

Tsuzuki blushed. "Why are you asking me?" 

"Well, you'd be the one to know, wouldn't you?" 

Terazuma gasped. "You _are_ one of those girls—" 

"No, he's not," said Tsuzuki. "Why?" 

Wakaba shrugged. "Just curious. So, have you ever seen what he looks like? I mean, what he really looks like." 

"No. No one sees the earl. Not nobody, not no how. Except maybe Watson, but it's not as though he'd ever tell. . . ." 

This time it was Terazuma's turn to ask, "Why?" 

"Well, doesn't that seem a little weird to you guys?" Wakaba said. Her tone had taken on a new seriousness, but as was typical, the men just ignored it. "I mean," she reiterated, "doesn't it make you wonder what he's hiding?" 

"No," said her partner, "and I don't want to know." 

Just then, just as they stepped down off the last step onto the second floor of the basement, the muzak came to a crashing halt, the lights flickered, the air pressure changed, and the walls seemed to warp around them. "Shit." Terazuma looked around. "It wasn't me." 

"Relax," said Wakaba, who out of the three of them was the only one to actually beam at the eerie event surrounding them. "I was expecting something like this. I mean, I couldn't be sure by Hakushaku-sama's description just what their presence here would be like, but this is amazing, just like a gate event only smaller—" 

"Wakaba-chan, speak Japanese, not Ghostbusters!" 

"It's a random encounter!" 

And with those words, a trio of zombies appeared before them, their skin wrinkled, their clothes tattered and falling off, glaring at them with dead, hungry eyes and moaning and gnashing their teeth; and behind them crouched creatures from out of the depths of hell whose long fangs dripped with ichor, and who exuded a foul stench and a strong hatred for the human race. 

Staring them down fearlessly, Wakaba twirled her halberd over her head and gripped it firmly in a ready position, her mismatched eyes gleaming with the light of adventure as she said, "It's show time!" 

—  
tsuzuku 


	8. Transmutate, Birds, Hack Job

Note: Yay, Literary Eagle got my Gackt reference! I was wondering if that was too obscure. . . . In case it wasn't clear yet, I will be going back and forth with the chapters a la Murakami Haruki's _Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World_, which was probably my biggest influence. Which means back to Hisoka and 003, yes! Thanks, everyone, for such positive feedback on his last chapter. I hope I don't disappoint. Your reviews did influence me some also, and let the record show credit where credit's due. Please note also that it's a bit longer and contains techno-BS. 

* * *

Hisoka was dumbstruck. He couldn't believe it. He wasn't able to believe it. It was not that it was far fetched — it was impossible. For an owl to transform somehow into a human, or vice versa, defied any laws of physics he knew about. This thought was coming from a person who had seen Watari pull material objects out of paper, and guardian gods appear out of thin air, and his own wounds repair themselves instantaneously. . . . Regardless, in some way or another there was an explanation behind those events, even if mankind had not yet found it. What this woman was claiming . . . that was something different. 

It had to be a joke someone was playing on him, he decided. An impostor. Certainly. What else could it be? But there was something about the woman he found unmistakably familiar that nothing else _could_ explain: while she couldn't be 003, she couldn't _not_ be 003 either. 

It was a long moment before Hisoka realized he was staring. 

"Hisoka . . . ?" the self-named 003 started cautiously. Her wide eyes bored into his. "Are you all right? I understand if this comes as a shock to you . . ." 

"Mm," he said. 

The woman blinked. 

Suddenly he snorted in disbelief, though it was terribly forced, which surprised both of them. "You almost had me there," he said. "That's a clever trick, finding someone who actually resembles Zero-zero-three . . . in some abstract way . . . but you didn't really expect me to believe an owl could turn into a human. I'm pretty sure that goes against the First Law of Matter, or something. Did Muraki put you up to this to throw me off?" He didn't dare to wave his gun at a woman, especially one who looked so innocent, but his look was hard enough for an inquisitor. "Who are you really?" 

"But I _am_ she," the woman insisted; "Zero-zero-three. And I _am_ an owl. Usually, that is." 

"Then how do you explain this?" 

"I'm not so sure I can." Suddenly she became solemn, and hung her head and leaned against the bridge railing; and Hisoka felt slightly bad for being so harsh. But surely she understood that he could not trust anyone so easily on a night as uncertain in its very, tenuous existence as this. 

"If you mean can I explain it technically," she said, "I suppose I could try, though I'm afraid it would be a long story and I would lose you with all the scientific details, and even then it would be largely based on speculation because evolutionary science just hasn't developed any clear hypotheses on the problem, in turn because I'm fairly sure it doesn't occur in nature, with the exception of several species of fish which have a tendency to change sex in a single-sex environment for obvious reasons of the survival of the population, but something like my case with such an extreme and spontaneous cross-class transmutation has never been documented by any credible sources, let alone thoroughly researched." 

Hisoka stared. Well, he thought, he had asked. . . . 

"If one had to call it anything I suppose," she went on without missing a beat, "to put it simply, it might be a kind of hex. I wasn't born with the ability, you know, and I don't control it: I really am supposed to be an owl." 

"Hex? What, you mean like a curse?" Whoever she was in reality (and the scientific mumbo jumbo had helped the case for her knowing Watari intimately if nothing else), he couldn't help but sympathize with her if what she said was true. "I didn't realize it was . . . that kind of thing." 

"It's not that bad, really, just inconvenient; it's not like I could transmutate automatically wearing clothes . . ." she began as she looked up at him again. 

—That is to say, as her head jerked up in his direction and her eyes met his without once moving in their sockets. Hisoka couldn't help it; he freaked. "What the . . . !" 

"Oh." Her brows furrowed at his surprise. "Am I doing it again? I keep forgetting that I can move my eyes by themselves now." She laughed at the brilliance of it, and just to rub it in proceeded to blink and roll her eyes this way and that experimentally. "I think that has to be the best thing about being human. Am I right? That and being able to eat anything I want." 

Again, Hisoka stared. 

"Oh, but you take that sort of thing for granted, don't you? Of course. I'm sorry I startled you, and so soon after our first meeting like this! I'm such a scatterbrain. Well, I will make a more concerted effort from now on." 

"T-that's good. You wouldn't want to scare anyone else." 

"Does this mean you believe me?" 003 clasped her hands behind her back and beamed. "Of course, if it would help to persuade you I could tell you what I had for dinner—" 

"No," Hisoka said quickly. "No, that's okay, I believe you." He sighed. "But . . . you have to understand: it's just so weird." It wasn't just her, either: the whole night seemed unreal and impossible. 

003 apparently understood as she nodded rather seriously. "M-m. Thus . . . maybe we ought to get back inside." 

"I was going to suggest the same thing," Hisoka said. Until the eclipse was past, he didn't want to spend another unnecessary minute outdoors. 

The mist was still a thick blanket over the grove of cherry trees. Somewhere out there were Tatsumi and Muraki, but the visibility was so poor that they probably could have passed within a few dozen yards of them and not noticed (if they were not engaged in mortal combat, of course). Anything could be just sitting out there hidden in the fog. And Hisoka was glad 003 knew where she was going. As they walked together he experienced a sudden, intimate flash of emotion. Perhaps emotion wasn't the right word: a confusion of snapshot-like information and nostalgic desires was a more accurate description. He thought it could only have come from 003. Scatterbrain or superbrain, he couldn't be sure so soon, but one thing was certain: he had never imagined her to be like this. 

—

_This is the way all mysteries seem to start, with a beautiful woman. Dames they usually call them in English, but when it's not that it's 'birds' or 'chicks.' How ironic. _

_And there I was, literally, with a bird of my own. I mean, she wasn't the most beautiful woman I had ever met, but there was certainly something attractive about her. She had the kind of body that would get a guy in trouble, anyway. Truth be told, I've never been very interested in women. I never had the time or the women to be interested in to begin with, and what would I even do with them if I was? But I had to admit to myself that I was interested in her on some level. And that wasn't good. She's an _owl_, I had to keep telling myself. You've held her naked, albeit covered with feathers. And what's worse, she's Watari-san's owl, and there's something inherently wrong with coveting your deceased co-worker's pet bird, even if she has inexplicably turned into a cute, if eccentric, rather buxom woman. (Strong chest muscles, you know, for flying.) _

_It must have been something in her personality that made her so attractive. On first impression she had that combination of bigheartedness and simplicity that sort of reminded me of Tsuzuki. Plus, even though I had no idea what she was talking about, she blew my mind. And when she looked at me with those big, light yellow eyes . . . She didn't have to ask any favors. I knew I wanted to help her. That's what I'd gone out to the garden to do, even though I hadn't expected _this_. And anyway, I couldn't help myself. I might be dead, but I'm still just a guy._

—

"The office looks so much smaller from here," 003 said as she sat waiting in an office chair, swinging her legs. 

They had returned in the hope of finding some decent attire for her. And since the only woman Hisoka knew well at all was Wakaba, he had decided to try her locker, with keys borrowed from her desk, to see if there was anything that could be of use in it. "Wakaba usually keeps a suit on hand just in case something comes up that calls for professionalism," he explained to 003. "I think you and her are about the same size." 

"You don't think she would mind me borrowing her clothes?" 

He gave it some thought. She'd just laugh at him if he said they were for 003. 

"I'm sure she would understand," he said. 

He tried another key, the lock clicked, and he opened the door. He breathed a sigh of relief. The suit was where he thought it would be, along with a light turtleneck sweater, stockings, and pumps. There were no two ways about it: Wakaba was a saint of being prepared. He would never second-guess her decision to wear a school uniform 24/7 again. He retrieved the outfit and placed it on the desk. 003 thanked him and immediately started undressing. 

He quickly turned around. 

"No problem," he said, blushing as he occupied himself with closing up the locker and returning the key. "So . . ." He tried to make conversation. "What's going to happen to you now? Are you going to stay like this forever?" 

"Fortunately, no. I'll revert back to my natural state eventually." 

"Like one of Watari's 'inventions,' huh?" 

The smell of the sex-change formula-cum-stain remover on his skin wasn't quite so noticeable now. 

"Very much like that, actually. You see, I'll only remain in this state as long as he's deceased." 

"Oh, right, he must have some kind of counter-measure." 

That seemed the most feasible explanation to Hisoka, but 003's ensuing silence made him wonder. He thought it might be best at a time like this to lighten the mood. "At least most of his concoctions wear off," he tried, although he felt bad joking about a man who had so recently died. "I'm sure those fish you were talking about change their sex permanently. I'd hate to think what would happen if he isolated some gene or another and slipped it in our coffee." 

"Oh, don't tell him about them!" said 003. "Right now he seems to have forgotten." 

"Don't worry. I have no desire whatsoever to turn into a girl. I get enough crap as it is now." 

She laughed quietly. Hisoka's eye twitched. "He really does mean well," 003 put in quickly. "I know it doesn't always seem that way, but, well . . ." She trailed off. "You can turn around now." 

So he did. She looked much more human now. The cut that Wakaba had hoped might give her more of a figure worked even better on someone with actual curves. There was still something about the image that reminded him of Watari — as though his sex-changing formula had finally worked, and amazingly well — but, after all, they do say pets tend to look like their masters. The deep blue and violet of the outfit made her complexion seem even more pale. The hem of the skirt and the sleeves were not quite where they were supposed to be, but one had to make do. 

"It's a little short," 003 said, "but what do you think? Will it work?" 

"Sure. Looks fine," Hisoka said. 

He had said it in as unimpressed a tone as he could manage without being curt, but she beamed anyway, and, draping the lab coat over one arm, grabbed his wrist. "Come on, let's go." 

"Where?" 

"To the lab," she said. "I want to see Watari." 

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean . . ." 

"I'm well aware that he's dead," she said indifferently. "But he's still my Watari. What should it matter to me what state he's in?" 

He did not understand her logic, but it was pointless to argue. It was either go with her or let her go alone and lose track of her, which was not something he felt he could responsibly do. She needed someone at a time like this; but more than that, he felt somehow reassured by her very presence. The rapid tapping of her shoes on the hall floors had a refreshing, feminine ring, even though 003 had to occasionally steady herself as, she explained, she was not used to walking in shoes. 

The lab and Watari were just as Hisoka had left them. Nothing had stirred, though he instinctively expected the place to be busy as always. The full gravity of the situation was difficult to take in — especially when everyone around him, including 003 herself, failed utterly to grasp it. 

"Oh, Watari!" she said fondly, and hurried with arms open wide and tilting like airplane wings to plop herself on the bed beside him, about to give him a great big hug. . . . Hisoka could not bear to look. It would be too weird. She seemed to notice his discomfort at her faux pas and stopped. "He looks so peaceful," she said instead, quieter, and tenderly brushed a lock of hair out of his face. "So precious, just like he was sleeping. I'm glad. It wasn't like him to be so melancholy." 

Hisoka took a seat on the bed opposite. 

"Did you see it happen?" 

"No," she said thoughtfully. "No, I didn't want to see that. There wasn't anything I could do, so I went out the window before . . ." 

"If you knew he was going to die, then . . . You must have seen someone enter the lab." 

His question puzzled her. "I didn't see anyone. Most everyone went home for the night." Her wide eyes blinked. "Why did you ask that, Hisoka? Is there a reason someone would want to come in the lab?" 

He hadn't expected her answer — her story didn't quite match up — but it was clear she was ignorant of the killer; so he merely said, "That's what I'm still trying to figure out." 

"Mm." Suddenly, with a long sigh, she curled up against Watari's body, despite the skirt hitching up even more, and placed one arm over that which he had resting on his stomach. But she did not squeeze as hard as she appeared to have liked, so as not to upset Hisoka's sensibilities — though her action startled him enough as it was. It wasn't so much that she was hugging a corpse, he decided, as that she was actually so utterly happy about it. "I can't help it," she apologized. "I never get to do this. With arms, that is." 

"I understand," Hisoka said. Of course, he didn't really — even with empathy he couldn't appreciate what it would be like to suddenly have arms — but it seemed like the only thing to say. 

"Did you know that in some tribal cultures the owl is a symbol of death?" She said it with fascination as she smiled against the doctor's shoulder. "It's unlucky. Ironic, isn't it? That when Watari really _is_ dead I'm no longer an owl." She closed her eyes, still beaming, relief radiating from her. And they looked to Hisoka like two people who had merely fallen asleep at a moment of pure bliss and fulfillment, even simply in appearance they complemented each other so well, two eccentric peas in a pod. 

"It was almost twenty-two years ago to the day," she said quietly. "On a night just like this, as a matter of fact." 

"What was? Did you become human before?" Hisoka felt overwhelmingly that he was intruding, but his curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "If you don't mind . . . Could you tell me what happened?" 

She blinked. "Well—" 

"Watari-san!" 

"Watari-san!" 

The two looked up as the caretakers of the records, the twin Gushoushin brothers, drifted into the lab. They stopped in their tracks, practically making a sign to ward off the evil eye, when they saw her sitting on the bed. "Ack! _It's you_!" they exclaimed in unison. 

"Good evening, Gushoushin!" 003 said, grinning merrily back. 

This pleased them even less. 

Gushoushin the younger grumbled. 

"What are you doing here?" said Gushoushin the elder. "What happened to Watari-san? Is he dead?" 

"I'm afraid so." 

"Ah—" they screeched, exchanging glances. "This isn't good." 

"How could he do this to us, dying on the job?" 

"How inconsiderate. This is all his fault to begin with." 

"And he's the only one who could help us." 

"_What are we going to do now?_" 

"You mean, you recognize her?" Hisoka said. 

"Of course," said Gushoushin the elder. "How could we not?" added his younger twin. "_It's a bad sign._" 

"Why? What's going on?" 

The twins grumbled again in their endearingly constipated way. 

"Should we tell him?" the younger whispered to his twin, as if he thought it would keep the other two from hearing him. Hisoka found it rather rude, talking about him in the third person when he was right in front of them. "I guess we have no other choice," said the elder. He turned to Hisoka. "It's security," he said. "We're having a bit of a problem — that is to say, a very big problem." 

"It's an emergency!" his brother cut in. "Juuohcho's barrier shields are malfunctioning. It's been on and off all night, we've been trying to fix the problem for the last hour and a half but we don't know all the codes—" 

"Not to make us sound incompetent, of course. But this particular problem . . . Watari-san helped design the system. The specific information we need is inside his head. And now he's dead!" 

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said 003, suddenly rather serious, as she stood and straightened the suit. "I wouldn't be so certain it's still in his head. That was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then, you know." 

The Gushoushin glared. "All right, then, what do _you_ suggest we do?" 

She shrugged. "I'll give it a go." 

"What? You can't just 'give it a go'; this is a matter of life and death! We need someone who knows how the system works. Results, not attempts." 

"But I know how Watari works, so it shouldn't be so hard to repair the system he designed — at very least enough to hold it up until someone can fix it properly." 

After some deliberation (it seemed they were just looking for an excuse to cave without admitting she was right), the twins nodded. "Okay, come with us. Hisoka-san can come too," the elder added, as if that hadn't been Hisoka's intention the entire time. 

The Gushoushin led them to the file room, into which typically only authorized personnel were allowed — and into which Hisoka had tried many times to sneak — which explained their reluctance. But the difference tonight was that it was an emergency. Set up on a group of desks that had been pushed together was a row of old computers, all glowing with status reports and attempts to restore the system, all showing rather dismal results. One showed in flashing red what parts of the shield at what wing of headquarters was weakened, but there was some hope while it still flashed. Another was receiving a cryptic stream of characters as to whose meaning Hisoka could not even guess. Nothing gave any clue as to the source of the problem. "Is there any way to know what's going on out there, what's caused this?" he asked. 

"Unfortunately, no," said Gushoushin the younger. "All that information would be coming through the security center, then get passed to us. We keep records here. We can't do much more than run diagnostics at this point. A lot of good that does us." 

"Of course, we would be able to do more if we had sufficient funds for newer computers. . . ." the elder mumbled under his breath. 

"And what about the security center?" Hisoka said. 

"We've been trying to contact them for an hour, but—" 

"But there appears to be some kind of interference. They're there, we just can't get through. All we're getting from them is static and this gibberish data. I can't make heads or tails of it." The elder gestured to the second screen. 

Hisoka held the headset that had been laid on the table to his ear. It was a hiss of static, punctuated occasionally by sounds that were just as likely to be human as not. "Electrical interference?" he asked. 

The elder nodded. "Or spiritual." 

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" 

"Technically. But the cause would be different." 

"So," said Hisoka, "it's either a mechanical malfunction, or . . ." 

The Gushoushin looked solemn. It went without saying. The possibility of it being a malevolent force at work was high. 

Meanwhile, 003 had taken a seat at one of the terminals and had begun typing quickly. "The connection seems fine," she said, the calmest of the four by far. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the system itself. Therefore I should be able to hack into it from here and control it directly. The security system, like everything, is controlled by the Mother computer. It's been a while, but Watari's entry codes should still be valid. Mothers are always sweet on their children." 

Hisoka leaned his hand on the back of her chair, watching her work. "You know Watari's entry codes?" 

"No," she said with terrible nonchalance. "But I do know Watari. It shouldn't be too hard to figure them out." The other three watched as she attempted to crack the codes, not missing a beat between a failure and her next try. It seemed like only a few minutes before there was a pleasant ding and the screen changed. "We're in," she said, and the Gushoushin breathed a sigh of relief. Columns of data immediately filled the screen in a quick stream. It was still unintelligible to Hisoka, but at least it looked more orderly this time, with dates next to each string of data. "Huh," 003 said as though to herself. "Interesting." 

With lightning speed she typed in new commands and scanned the information it brought her, meanwhile telling them, in her Western lisp: "According to security's report, the barricade came under attack at approximately twelve-oh-seven, in the general area of the engineering department." 

"That was a little more than fifteen minutes ago," Hisoka said. "We got back around then . . ." 

003 nodded. "It's been trying to get inside the building complex ever since. Looks like a large, unidentified material object. The barricade probably rejected it for consisting of or carrying trace amounts of some illegal essence banned by King Enma. If it was truly a powerful spiritual entity there would have been a general warning throughout the system. We would have heard it in the office. This is strange, though. Its movements are very persistent but stubbornly consistent. From these readouts, I would imagine whatever it is is just sitting out there leaning on the shield, waiting for it to break. It shows a remarkable lack of ingenuity; you usually don't see that kind of trait in an intruder who's managed to get this far into Juuohcho." 

"It isn't a demon, then?" 

"I don't think so." 003 bit her lip as she scrolled up. The numbers reflected off her large, staring eyes. "Look at this." She pointed. "Radar detected a large, moving object approaching the building shortly after ten p.m., and before that an anomalous breach occurred to the northeast of here." 

Hisoka started. "The Castle of Candles is in that direction. Is that where it was located?" 

"It seems there have been several similar anomalies in the past three hours, though most of them have been small, and they all seem to be limited to the Castle of Candles and the cherry groves to the immediate northwest of headquarters." 

"We noticed something was wrong about that time," said Gushoushin the elder. "That's when we first tried to contact security, to see what was going on, but . . ." 

"Alas," said the younger, "no luck." 

003 was silent for a long moment but for the clacking of her fingers on the keys. She moved the chair suddenly, brushing off Hisoka — who was worrying about Tsuzuki's status — as she moved to the next terminal, this time entering a different section of the Mother computer. A warning light came on. The twins started. "What are you doing?" screeched the elder. 

"All that weight on one area of the barricade will eventually cause it to crack if neither the intruder's position nor the shield situation changes soon," she explained. "I estimate, the way this is going, worst case scenario, it could collapse in ten minutes . . . eh, give or take five." The Gushoushin squawked in unison. 003 blinked. "It's a good thing I came in when I did. The solution seems simple enough, it's just a matter of careful strategizing. I'm going to tweak the program to turn it into a temporary deflector shield. First I'll increase the shield's magnetic charge, then reroute the electrical to send a concentrated surge of energy into the barricade generator from our primary power source. We'll lose power for a few seconds, but the backup should bring it back on. The barricade'll be unstable for a while, and it might make it impossible for anyone to enter or leave the building, but it should hold." 

"Are you sure a power surge will be enough to dissuade the intruder, whatever it is?" Hisoka asked. "I mean, we don't know what it is, and if it's as persistent as you say . . ." 

"I have a hunch. Trust me," 003 told him, and winked. Hisoka blushed. "Anyway, that's not what we have to worry about. Our biggest concern should be to make sure the power surge doesn't cause the system to explode." 

"_Explode?_" cried the Gushoushin. "That's an awful lot of 'shoulds' and 'mights' for an emergency of this magnitude!" complained the younger. 

003 pretended she hadn't heard as she concentrated on the monitor before her. "I know what I'm doing," she said in a sing-song voice that, for a moment, made her sound just like Watari. It was a tense few minutes while they watched her operate, eyes glued to the computer screens. "Here . . . we . . . go. . . ." she said, entering the last few commands, and Hisoka held his breath. 

Almost immediately, the file room lights flickered and died, and the computers went out with a dying whir. His heart pounding painfully in his chest, Hisoka expected the whole building to shake and the walls to collapse on top of them at any moment. But nothing happened. They could not hear, inside the well-insulated room, the roar of pain and frustration that issued from the direction of the engineering labs, and echoed for several kilometers around, shaking the ground to its very atoms — the kind of roar that could only come from a great behemoth of a being. 

Instead, it was the sound of the computers starting back up that made him jump, and then the lights came on in the room faintly. Data came streaming in slowly, all of it encouraging judging by 003's reaction. "It worked," she said with a relieved sigh. 

The Gushoushin laughed out loud. 

"It worked . . ." Hisoka could only echo back, still not sure whether it was safe to believe it. At that moment, he wanted to hug 003. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, as she turned her chair toward him and beamed at him as though he'd had just as big a part to play in their success as she. "M-hm!" she said. 

Once again he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. 

—  
tbc 


	9. Random Encounters

When last we left our trio of caseworkers of the dead, they had started on their journey through the dark and windy bowels of the dungeon of the Castle of Candles' basement, foremost in mind the end goal that was to catch the demon Fluffy on the fifth floor and return the basement to its original ectological state, in the meantime vanquishing whatever undead Fluffy in his havoc-wrecking invited over to their side that they should encounter, but they encountered difficulties in the process of finding their way to the second floor in the form of mazes and so-titled Rooms of Mystery that temporarily detained them from their quest, during which time Tsuzuki's suffering — if it may so be called — was limited to one hundred desire-manifested Hijiris, until the threesome found the stairwell and upon reaching the second floor landing found themselves in an encounter of a more random kind. . . . 

Across from them, another threesome of the living dead moaned and there was much gnashing of teeth. Their limbs swung deceptively lifeless from their crooked postures beneath tattered clothing. The beasts that resembled pictures in a science book of mammal-like reptiles from the Permian period, except several times more menacing, crouched and slithered between them, their eyes and dripping fangs glowing through the shadows that perpetually enshrouded them. 

Wakaba gripped her halberd and said, "It's show time!" 

Tsuzuki blinked. "This sounds very familiar. . . ." 

"That's because it's a recap, dumbass," said Terazuma. 

"Oh, is it?" 

"What are you two waiting for?" quipped Wakaba. "Your time gage to fill up?" 

And before her two companions could think up some witty retort, she charged forward, straight and quick as an arrow from years of practice dealing with the parasitic alter ego of her partner, and cleaved the zombie nearly in two from hip to shoulder with one skilled upper cut. The zombie collapsed in a dusty heap and twitched a little but didn't get up, clearly no match for her awesome halberd-wielding powers. 

Encouraged by the ease with which his partner had dispatched the one, Terazuma took up his shotgun and unloaded it in the other two, disarming them, literally, one limb at a time. The crack of body parts was even more gruesomely like a dry twig snapping than in the arcade game. 

The dark beasts were more organized, however, and no simple game. While Wakaba's attention was distracted with one of them, she did not see the other sneaking round to the other side, and crouching ready to spring and strike. "Look out, Wakaba!" Tsuzuki called, and it was then she looked up only to see the thing bearing down on her from above— 

And fall hard against the shield raised by Tsuzuki's fuda, its open maw and beefy talons straining to break the power of the wavering strip of paper. Overcoming her brush with danger, Wakaba dropped the halberd and pulled a MAC-10 from her waistband, taking aim at the beast to her right and unleashing a stream of bullets at its hard head. Blinded and with a scream of outrage, it backed off and joined its companion, which had leaped away with a snarl of frustration from the fuda, which now lay smoldering on the dungeon floor. Before it could even reach the ground Tsuzuki had reached into his jacket and replaced it. Murmuring a quick chant and letting it go, the fuda burst into balls of fire that quickly engulfed the defiant beasts. 

The shinigami were still for a moment as silence descended on the hall and the walls slowly changed back to normal. Then the tension was interrupted when Tsuzuki and Wakaba clapped hands. 

"_Yatta_! We did it!" they said, suddenly all smiles. "That wasn't so difficult after all," said Tsuzuki. 

"Nope," chimed Wakaba. "Although the first ones are always the easiest." 

"But with our superior skill levels, we should reach Fluffy in no time. His petty minions are no match for us." 

"Aw, but overkills are no fun either. I was hoping for a little more of a challenge." 

"You sadistic little over-achiever," Tsuzuki said, grinning and tussling her hair. "You enjoy beating up on demons, don't you?" 

"I guess so," she said sheepishly, one hand behind her head. "It seems to be my nurturing instinct." 

The two shared a hearty laugh. 

Terazuma watched them warily out of the corner of his eye. "I expected this of him," he mumbled, "but this is a side of you I've never seen, Kannuki." 

The other two became serious. 

"What are you saying, Hajime?" Wakaba asked him. She brushed off her pleated skirt in a sudden fit of feminine self-consciousness. "Do you find it unbecoming?" 

"Well, er, it's not that so much . . ." Mentally, much more so than outwardly, Terazuma panicked. He couldn't just out and say he thought it wasn't very becoming, because though it may have been true that it didn't quite match with her kind nature without coming off a tad creepy, it did add another dimension to the respect he had for her as a partner already — and, somehow, saying that felt like it would be admitting to a fault. Or perhaps it was because her toughness turned him on. That and, of course, that there was no way in Hell he was going to give Tsuzuki a reason to think he was mushy. 

"You're really good with the halberd," he settled for. 

Wakaba beamed. "Thank you. You're not too bad with that shotgun either. Good thing zombies are so weak against physical attacks." 

"That's right," Tsuzuki said to himself. "Most evil spirits are only susceptible to spiritual attacks. But zombies are human, aren't they? Or, at least, were. . . ." 

"Well, keep 'em coming. I'd rather meet up with more of them down here than _these_ puppies," said Terazuma. He kicked the pile of smoldering animal corpses and recoiled, fanning the air. "Damn. Smells like a wet dog in here." And he promptly lit another cigarette. 

As the three journeyed on through the dark and ancient hallways that made up the Castle of Candles' basement, they did encounter zombies of various numbers and dispositions, all of which were quickly disposed of. It was beginning to seem that this mission of the Earl's was not such a terrible chore after all. They were making good progress and, if they were honest, enjoying themselves a little bit. Little did they know that something was tracking their movements. 

The space around them warped once again as they arrived at a fork in the way and when it cleared, zombies were not the only thing to greet them. A pair of girls, white and diaphanous like ghosts, watched their battle from the corners of the intersection, floating in the air high up on the wall. But when the last of the zombies fell, the amused smiles they had been wearing turned to frightened gasps and they retreated down one hallway without making a sound. 

"Cowards! Come back and fight like a man!" Terazuma called after them. He fired one shot down the hall and growled. "I'm going after them." 

"Don't bother," Wakaba said. "We have to press onward." 

"But they're going back for reinforcements! We should stop them now before they have a chance." 

"Not everything in Hakushaku's castle is malevolent," Tsuzuki said, prompting a told-you-so look from Wakaba. "But, then again, with Fluffy running things, you can't be sure everything down here doesn't want to eat you, either." 

"See?" said Terazuma. "Trust no one." 

Wakaba sighed. "You two are being paranoid. Those cute little girls wouldn't hurt anyone. I'm sure the violence just scared them away." 

"Cute? I've seen warmer smiles on the Kanawa sisters. Camel spiders look cute too, until they rip a chunk the size of a dinner plate out of your new tires." He looked around suspiciously, ears twitching. 

Then he winced as Wakaba grabbed the point of his ear in a pinch using a handkerchief to keep their skin from touching. "Come on," she said, "the map says we should go this way," and led him protesting down the opposite hallway. 

They hadn't gone far when a low growl, like a rattlesnake's warning rattle, made them stop in their tracks. Up ahead the hall was dark. The fluorescent light struggled to remain on, and with each spastic flicker they caught a glimpse of the things that crouched and coiled beneath them. A brood of dark, nearly hairless feline bodies each as big as a Chevy Impala rippled under patterns of scar-like stripes from bulging masses of muscles. Their claws extended in their massive feet, their ugly simian faces bared their awesome, flesh-rending canines. Their whip-like tails, each as long as an anaconda, twitched and curled around them, and in the pulsating light the razor sharp ends flashed dangerously. 

The shinigami's spirits fell. 

"Manticores," Tsuzuki groaned. "I hate manticores." 

Now from behind the manticores they heard a haughty giggle, and the girls in white who had watched them just a few minutes ago appeared among the beasts, their smiles anything but innocent. "You'll be sorry you ever crossed us," they said in mellifluous voices. "Consider this payback for killing our playmates." 

Terazuma threw his hands up in the air. "I told you guys they were evil!" 

One of the girls extended her arm and pointed at the shinigami. "Devour them, minions!" she yelled, and the manticores sprang forward. 

Tsuzuki was ready with a shield when they did. It crackled when it came in contact with the beasts, and the three could smell searing flesh, but it held. "We'll have to split up," he yelled over the noise. "Did you see how the manticores were only incited to attack after those girls ordered them to? One of us has to take those girls out!" 

"I'm on it," Terazuma said, dashing out from under the shield. 

"No, wait—" Wakaba started, but he couldn't hear them. "He only has that shotgun, and it won't do him much good against spiritual bodies." 

She looked to Tsuzuki for support, but he said nothing and kept his eyes focused on the beasts that surrounded them. Wakaba fired the MAC-10s at those that were closest. 

Sliding to a dramatic halt, glaring down the barrel of the shotgun, Terazuma said, "Eat lead, you bitches!" and fired twice at the girls in white. 

His aim was perfect. Unfortunately, the shots passed right through them. 

"Oh. You're the one who fired at us in the hallway," said one — much too gleefully in his opinion. 

He grinned. "That's right." 

"You're a bad man!" said the other. "We hate you!" 

"Yeah, well, sticks and stones, ladies," Terazuma said as he reloaded. "If that's all you got—" 

But that was all he could say before, without any further encouragement, the two opened their mouths wide and let out an ear-splitting scream. The three shinigami immediately covered their ears. The sound only seemed to incite the creatures further. With great gorilla-like roars they doubled their efforts. 

Tsuzuki dodged a tail whip. "Nice strategy, Terazuma," he said under his breath. "Real diplomatic." 

"How was I supposed to know they'd do that?" he shouted in his own defense, grunting as Wakaba pulled him back by his sleeve. "Concentrate on the manticores," she told them. "Physical attacks are useless against banshees." 

"I see that now, but thanks, Captain Obvious," Terazuma muttered, though his frustration was reserved for the two spirits rather than his partner. He turned and covered her back, pumping a shell into the nearest beast's shoulder. It howled and cringed, but was not out of the action for long, despite the chunk taken out of its flesh. Rearing on its hind legs, its intent could not be mistaken as it came at him, talons bared. 

Terazuma backed up, but only felt the cold, hard stone wall at his back. Without hesitation, he did the next thing that came to mind. He aimed for the eyes. And when the distracted beast reared up he dove under its belly and turned onto his back, reaching into his coat as he did so. A fuda stuck to that softer skin and a quick charm caused the point of contact to erupt straight out the back of the paper. The manticore collapsed, nearly on top of him. 

Tsuzuki sent another fuda in the form of an arrow of flame into the face of one of the manticores. Caught off its guard, it turned its back on him on instinct and lashed at him with its long, deadly tail. He was forced to leap out of the way, but not without incurring a scratch over the top of one thigh from the blade-like edge of the tail. He winced, throwing up another charm as one of its companions went for him like a fish for a fly, baring its ugly primate canines. 

It was no good keeping this up. The fuda only worked for a little while on such persistent creatures as these manticores. It was time to bring out the big guns. He put his hands together. 

"I prostrate myself and present my wish before you, defender of the East, of the twelve gods who protect me! You who bears the blade of the atmosphere, the steel of the vacuum, fangs of white silver, show your form before me! Byakko!" 

As he chanted, the very air around him began to coalesce, before long swirling in a white whirlwind of particles that seemed to come from another plane. And when he called the name, it gathered and took the shape of a titanic white tiger, its hair bristled, crouching over him and zeroing in on and baring its giant fangs at the enemy it instantly recognized. Byakko opened his mouth wide, summoning his element to him as though taking in a deep breath; and when he let it out again, it shot out like a solar wind, enveloping the remaining manticores and obliterating them as they roared in anguish. 

The banshees stared wide-eyed, sucking in a breath. 

"Now for these two," said Wakaba grinning as she pulled a blank fuda from her blouse. As it balanced as though shackled in midair, she traced something invisible on it rapidly with her fingers, spreading her handiwork out into thin air. With a whoosh, the paper flared up with an unearthly glow. A single eye opened out of that point, and the banshees panicked and tried to flee, but found themselves pinned where they were. 

"Aeons of the abyss," Wakaba said at last, "who keep the gates of space and time, send these two of your servants back from whence they came!" 

There was a terrifying sound as the banshees tried one last time to resist their fate. But then they vanished, quite literally, in the blink of an eye, leaving only faint echoes of their screams in the wide chamber. Then silence. 

Tsuzuki let out a long sigh. "That was close," he said, slumping his shoulders a little. Byakko nipped his jacket shoulder gently in place of a morale boost. "How much more of this do we have to take?" 

"Beats me," Terazuma sympathized. "But, if I may gloat just this once, I _did_ warn you guys." 

"Yeah, yeah, you were right about the girls, Terazuma. At least we had a gate keeper with us to clean things up, right?" Tsuzuki gave Wakaba a fatherly pat on the back. "Where did you send those two anyway?" 

"I don't know," Wakaba said. "Chijou maybe. Banshees aren't supposed to hurt people. Just scare grave robbers away. I'm surprised they didn't recognize us as Juuohcho employees." 

"That's right," Tsuzuki said, though Terazuma still looked skeptical. "Fluffy must be controlling them. We have to get to him before he can do any more damage to the Castle." Although, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his stomach let out another round of gurgles loud enough to echo in the hallway. Grimacing, he put his arms around himself. "But first . . ." 

"Aw, jeez. Again?" said Terazuma. 

Wakaba took out the GPS. "Let me locate the nearest restroom." 

—

Meanwhile, above ground, in the cherry grove. . . . 

The glowing lines of Muraki's spell, a pentagram drawn in the air, flashed as they shattered into pieces; and the surge of shadows with which it had collided dissipated faster than incense smoke rising in the air. He stumbled back as though he himself had felt the jar of the impact, falling to one knee to take stock as he regained his strength. He had thrown everything he had at his opponent. Summoned dragons, imps, skeletal leviathans and beasts possessed by malicious lusts, black magic, chi — none of it did much good for very long. The sinewy, nebulous shapes made by the shadows destroyed them all eventually. But while he had made little progress to detain or injure the secretary, the secretary's shadowy attacks and noble threats of revenge had in turn had little effect against him. It was not for lack of trying. Too many times already he had felt the chill of that living darkness come too close for his comfort as it strained to cut through his defenses. 

Yet even in the face of mortal danger, his heart pounded with the thrill of it. The almost sexual excitement. 

He was breathing hard. The secretary may not have injured him, but he had worn him down. That was just as jeopardous. A swirl of white energy around himself was all Muraki could summon now in his own defense. 

But his careful eye did not miss the way the shadows dispersed after his own attack. Both attacks had been strong, beautiful, moving forward with the desperation of men at their limits. Both had failed. He understood his opponent perfectly. Tatsumi was tiring. The spiritual energy required to maintain the shadows' solid form would wear on even the strongest shadow user inevitably. He had known it was only a question of when until they were on equal ground again. He was confident that time was now. 

Still, the secretary's voice was strong when he called out tauntingly to Muraki through the low mist: "Is that all you have for me, Doctor?" 

Muraki's lips widened into a sneer. "No. Not all." 

From his crouch he sprang at Tatsumi like a predatory cat, fist flying through the air toward the secretary's face. Tatsumi dodged on instinct, his reaction graceful, but there was something of a slight stumble in his mental concentration to prove that Muraki had caught him at a weak moment. With a grunt, Tatsumi projected what energy he could to throw his opponent off: a lacking but powerful enough wind to make the fallen petals sting as they blew across Muraki's skin. He brought his arms up to his face as a shield. 

When his vision cleared, he saw Tatsumi had used the opportunity to grab a garden rake that had been left against one of the trees. He saw the flimsy yet sharp metal teeth sailing toward his head and sidestepped at the last moment. Tatsumi didn't miss a beat, and swung the other end of the rake in Muraki's direction. Muraki blocked it. 

He allowed himself to be backed up a few steps, perhaps in part so that he might witness the secretary's skill before crushing him, like a cat plays with an insect. Perhaps in part to better time his attack. He absorbed a few blows to the shoulder before catching the rake in one hand, and smashing the strong oak handle with the palm of the other. The wood shattered and splintered. The hard look in Tatsumi's eyes did not even waver as he took a step back, and discarded the worthless halves of the rake without even a glance. 

"Your weapons are useless against me," Muraki quipped. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gazed at the secretary over the rims of his glasses. "You should know I have a black belt in karate, among other things." 

"Wing Chun," Tatsumi said, arranging himself fluidly into a prepared stance. 

Muraki snorted amusedly to himself. "Then it's a fact. We are well matched physically as well as metaphysically. This should be interesting, from a scientific standpoint." He pushed his glasses up to a better position with a finger to the bridge. 

"Is that your professional opinion?" Tatsumi came back as he adjusted his with his thumb and fingertips on the bottom corners of the lenses. 

"Quite." 

This time Tatsumi made the first move. As fast and smooth as the shadows he conjured, his hands jabbed at Muraki. And Muraki brought up his arms to deflect his blows, countering with some of his own. He went for a kick. Tatsumi blocked it and tried to pin his leg with his own. Muraki slid out of it and went for the gut. A hand was there to stop his arm as Tatsumi turned out of the way, and Muraki barely dodged the palm of his other hand as it went for his jaw. 

They went on like this for some time, attempting and blocking each other's blows, moving one another back and forth, gaining a bit of ground and losing it. They struck with such speed and blocked with such accuracy as to suggest that each was in tune with the other's mind and body, almost as though he was able to know what the other would do before he did it. They went all out, but it soon became apparent to Muraki they were both tiring. Yet neither would be able to surrender and admit defeat, where to do such a thing might mean something worse than death. Shame. They were like souls, neither letting the possibility enter his mind. 

At last Tatsumi was able to push Muraki back until he had him pinned against the gnarled trunk of one of the cherries. Getting nowhere with blows, it became a grappling match, Muraki desperate to shove his captor's weight off, Tatsumi trying with all his might to keep his enemy pinned. Their breathing was hard, strained. Muraki could feel the sweat running down Tatsumi's wrist, and down his own face, making his glasses slip farther down his nose. 

"What are you waiting for, Tatsumi-san?" he said through gritted teeth. "Aren't you going to have your wicked way with me?" 

Tatsumi narrowed his eyes. "Pardon?" 

"I'm talking about killing me. Isn't that what you've been waiting all these years to do, to get revenge for everything I've done to your dearest friends?" 

"I would ask you the same thing, Muraki. After all, I've caused you enough embarrassment over the years. You do have a villainous reputation to keep up." 

"Ridiculous," Muraki grunted. "Why would I, after finally having the opportunity to fight my one true rival face to face, want to go and kill him? Even if I could?" 

"I hardly believe you would just let him kill you, either," Tatsumi said, trying to scrunch his glasses back up his nose. "Could it be you've reached the limit of your strength, Muraki?" 

"Isn't the same true of you?" 

For a long, tense moment the two stared into each other's eyes, their muscles straining against one another while cherry blossom petals drifted down around them like snowflakes, signifying the transience of life. Muraki could read Tatsumi's desire, and Tatsumi his. They came to a silent agreement. 

They released their grip and quickly pushed their glasses back up. Then they resumed positions. 

"It appears we've reached a stalemate," Tatsumi said. 

A wicked smile spread on Muraki's lips. "Admit it, Mr Secretary," he said in a low voice, "you've found this experience invigorating. You've never seen such chi that so closely matches your own. It fills a hole in your existence. You know in your heart you don't want to kill me. You can't." 

"Perhaps not this time," Tatsumi hissed. "But not for the reason you think. There is too much at stake, too much risk. However, I won't forget this night. I still plan to have my revenge." 

"Certainly, certainly," Muraki grunted under his weight, "but what do we do in the meantime?" 

"The only thing two evenly matched opponents can do in a situation such as this," Tatsumi said with gravity, and Muraki grinned a knowing grin. 

—

"How long has it been?" 

Terazuma looked at his watch again. He hadn't noticed the time when they got here, so he couldn't actually say how much time had passed, but he knew it was a lot. "I told you I don't know," he said irritably. He uncrossed his legs and switched their positions as he leaned against the antiseptic-white tiles that lined the hall leading back to the public toilets. Next to the pay phone, Wakaba stood examining the dungeon map on the GPS and planning their next move. "Shit. If this keeps up, we'll be down here all night. What level are we on, anyway?" 

"The third." 

"Thank God. Half way there." 

"Somehow I have a feeling we won't get off that easy." 

As though in direct response to her words, the lights suddenly flickered and dimmed. Around them the walls seemed to hum and vaguely shake, but as soon as they fell silent to hear it better it faded away, like a distant train running on. The muzak continued uninterrupted. "That's not another random encounter," Terazuma said quietly. Beside him Wakaba shrugged. 

The men's room door swung open and a much more refreshed-looking Tsuzuki stepped out to join them in the narrow, winding hallway. "Finally," Terazuma grumbled. He retrieved his lighter and held it to the cigarette that dangled from his lips. "Must have been some really bad shrimp. I thought if you took any longer we might actually have to go in there after you. —Except we didn't bring any gas masks." 

Looking up from his jacket buttons, Tsuzuki glowered. "That's not funny. Hey—" He plucked the cigarette from Terazuma's mouth, much to the other's irritation. "Hakushaku said there was no smoking down here." 

"Come on! My nerves are fried. If you heard that rumbling a minute ago—" 

"What rumbling?" said Tsuzuki. "Hey, I've had enough of your jabs—" 

"You didn't hear it?" said Wakaba. When he didn't respond she said as though to herself: "Huh. Maybe the old pipes . . . Well. Tsuzuki, if you're feeling better, we should get back to work. While you were in there I found a shortcut to the stairs down." 

"Good," Terazuma said. "I hope they change the song, too. It's been playing nonstop since we entered the dungeon." 

"You don't like 'Night Ferryboat'?" said Tsuzuki. "It's a classic." 

"It's annoying." 

"It feels like I'm stuck in a love sim and can't get to the next level," said Wakaba. 

"Story of my life," Terazuma muttered to himself. 

Wakaba smiled. "I don't expect Tsuzuki has any problems like that, though. What with a lively young partner like Kurosaki-kun." 

Terazuma nearly spat out his cigarette. Tsuzuki started. "What's that— What are you implying, Wakaba?" 

"Don't take that innocent tone with me, Tsuzuki-san," she said, waving a knowing finger at him. "I know what's going on in those heads of yours, the way you two are always looking at each other with furtive glances . . . Gosh, when are you guys going to admit it?" 

"You've got it all wrong! I see him as more of a little brother I never had." Tsuzuki laughed nervously. "Besides, Hisoka isn't that kind of guy." 

"Why are you asking him this crap, Kannuki?" Terazuma said, looking more than a little uncomfortable, especially with Tsuzuki's last comment. "You drop your mind in a gutter somewhere back there?" 

"I'm envious," Wakaba said with a shrug. "At least they can touch each other. Of course, I wouldn't trade my grumpy-wumpy Hajime-chan for any other partner in the world!" she crooned. 

Terazuma inched away. 

"And anyway, in our case, I figured we all get our dues. That's why I don't mind Hajime's condition." 

He looked down to hide the faint coloring of his cheeks. "When you say it that way, Kannuki, it sounds like I have some kind of . . . deficiency." 

"I prefer to look it from a more positive point of view. Divine punishment." 

The two men gave her a sideways glance. "You call that positive?" said Tsuzuki in a small voice. 

"M-m. If it's something you had some control over when you were alive. Like, maybe Hajime's not being able to be intimate with a woman is because of a philanderous lifestyle." 

Quite unexpectedly, Terazuma started. "Who told you about that?" 

"Bz-z-zt!" Tsuzuki pointed at him. "I believe the correct response, Hajime-chan, is 'I don't know what the hell you're talking about.'" 

He laughed quietly to himself. The other's hair stood on end as he glared. "It was just a poor decision made in haste, is all," Terazuma said in his own defense. "I should have been more thorough in asking the bastard what he meant by 'symbiotic relationship.' Like a life of slavery!" he yelled to himself, tapping his own temple with a finger. 

"Hm, I guess it pays to listen to your _sempai_'s pointers after all," said Tsuzuki. Terazuma growled. 

"Hm, speaking of which," Wakaba said, thumb raised thoughtfully to her lower lip, "Hajime, I'm thinking the next time we get into an encounter with anything other than zombies you should let me bring out Kuro-chan." 

Terazuma balked, cringing like she had somehow violated him. "Why do you want to bring _him_ into this?" he said, voice rising in pitch. "I can't be held responsible for what he'll do! And, anyway, it's very taxing on me. More so than you realize." 

"But it would be worth it, don't you think? It would be a great help to us, to let him take over for a little bit until we can find Fluffy." 

"Absolutely not. I cannot condone such capricious use of my body." He nodded once defiantly. The other two just ignored his posturing and continued on their way out of the tiled hall. Resigning himself and blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth as he muttered something about getting no respect, Terazuma trudged after them. 

— 

to be continue.. 


	10. Engram, Guilty, Plot Hole

Sitting on a stool in the cafeteria kitchen, swinging her legs, eyes glued to the printouts she had requested of the Gushoushin before their departure, 003 hummed "Zun-Doko Bushi" stiltedly like a crosswalk signal as she crammed another carefully formed-together mass of yakisoba noodles into her mouth. 

Hisoka, who had long ago lost his appetite, couldn't help but stare. That was her fourth serving in ten minutes, not to mention the cheese omelet, tuna sashimi, deviled ham sandwich, two bowls of instant miso soup and the microwave pizza he had made for her while she studied the data, and the slices of frozen raspberry cheesecake and lemon meringue pie sitting half-eaten on piles of paper. 

The way she put it away, he had to wonder if she'd eaten in a year. True, her normal, owl stomach would have been much smaller, and he was aware that owls typically ate their prey whole, but that still didn't explain where it all went now. It was somewhat difficult to believe that this was the same delicate-looking woman who had saved Juuohcho just a short time ago with her fearsome, quick-thinking hacking skills. 

She stopped humming for a moment to take another bite of cake, and looked away from the system diagnostics to the data dump, glancing between the columns there and the charts beside it, comparing the two. She made a small sound and raised her eyebrows. 

"Find something?" Hisoka asked, leaning over the counter. 

"Possibly," 003 said. "This chart gives the times and approximate locations within the grounds where the anomalies occurred. If this is accurate, it seems the rate of occurrence of the anomalies has dropped since about ten forty-five, when they were at their peak." 

"Well, that's good." 

"Yeah," she agreed distractedly, "especially considering they seem to correspond with the fluctuation in the system. The corruption that occurred during those moments was purged like it was recognized as some sort of virus, but the duration makes me think it behaves more like static. I wonder why Mother . . ." She trailed off. "Hisoka, do you believe in dark matter?" 

A little unsure of the relevance of the question, Hisoka stood up. "Well, yeah. I mean, sure, I guess. I remember reading something about it in the news. Why? Why ask me if I believe in it?" 

"It is mostly hypothetical, isn't it? You can't actually see the things that are supposed to make up dark matter — hence the name, right? — and so far no one has actually been able to measure the top suspects like neutrinos. And yet, scientists are pretty sure there's _something_ there that's different from the 'light' matter we can see and is affecting the way the universe works in a major way. That sort of takes a leap of faith, doesn't it?" 

It seemed like the opposite to Hisoka. But wanting to avoid arguing philosophy with her of all people, he simply said, "You're starting to lose me: Where does this fit in with what happened to the security system?" 

"Well," she scrunched her shoulders, "no one's ever tried to scientifically explain where things like demons and guardian gods actually come from—" 

"Wait a minute. You're not suggesting that this theoretical dark matter that exists somewhere out there, in space, is real _dark_ matter . . . as in evil." 

"No. That's too simplistic even for me. But I can't help but think there might be something to those theories that make this place, for instance, or our continued existence make sense. We in Meifu tend to take it for granted. But what if there is a scientific explanation for what people call 'subspace'? Maybe it isn't a non-physical plane at all, but is simply made up of a different type of overlapping matter that living people can't see or feel. Dark matter. Like being at its most fundamental level isn't what we think _being_ is at all, and there could, in fact, be universes within universes. Pocket universes, if you will." 

"So, places like Meifu and Gensoukai are, like, parallel dimensions?" 

"Yes." 003 nodded in complete seriousness. "Or perhaps even the 'light' universes we know are subsidiaries of a larger 'dark' one that even now we have not had the proper tools to analyze, even though the rates of acceleration of astral bodies suggest dark matter makes up over seventy percent of the universe. It's like not understanding water." 

"This is just crazy." Hisoka sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Watari-san's been feeding you this SF garbage for, what, two decades now?" 

"He believes it." 

"Yeah. I'm sure _he_ believes it." 

003 frowned and turned something over in her head for a moment. And for a moment, Hisoka wished he hadn't just questioned a dead man's mental stability, at least not in front of someone as close to him as she was. 

However, she didn't seem to be hurt by his statement when she said: "That's what he was researching the last time this happened. Watari always was ahead of his time." 

And suddenly Hisoka's curiosity once again forced every other concern to the back of his mind. 

"Last time?" 

"Yes," she said to herself. "Twenty-two years ago, on a summer night of the total lunar eclipse." 

"In nineteen-eighty? You became human that night, too? Or do you mean the anomalies?" 

She thought for a moment to herself again, staying her fork in mid-reach, staring out in the direction of the kitchen stove. Hisoka turned to see what she was looking at, and it was then she started in again. 

"Nobody's really sure what happened. And no one talks about it anymore. That night Watari was working on one of his latest experiments. He had been raving about it for some time, and everyone thought it was either too dangerous or too cockamamie a scheme for him to actually be serious about trying. But that's Watari for you. He was so convinced it would work, and so sure it would change the way mankind thinks about the makeup of the universe, that he went ahead with it in the dead of night anyway. 

"Well, to make a long story short, something backfired, or maybe just wasn't accounted for, and the lab he was working in exploded. —No, that's not completely right. I guess it's fairer to say something in it imploded. Watari lost one of his greatest inventions in that accident." 

"That's odd he's never mentioned it," Hisoka thought out loud. "I mean, he blows up things all the time, and aside from Tatsumi-san's grumbling everyone seems to more or less expect it. But wouldn't Watari-san bring up that incident at least once, if it was something he felt was that important?" 

"Therein lies the problem," 003 said. "During the accident, he must have hit his head real hard or something, because he was out cold for a whole day. I think he must have died for a while." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Only because that was the first time I turned human. And the second time was tonight when he died." 

"But, I mean, what makes you say he died? Couldn't he have just been really deeply unconscious for a while?" 

"Hm." 003 scrunched her lips together as she thought. She cut off another bite of cheesecake with the fork, and pushed it around in some left over mayonnaise and hoisin sauce. "I have thought about that. But it's not as though I turn human every time he hits his head in an explosion, or goes into a super deep sleep." 

"Well, regardless," said Hisoka, "how _did_ you turn human in the first place? You mentioned a hex a while back. It reminded me of my own case, so I wondered . . ." 

"Oh, no," 003 shook her head. "When I said hex I didn't mean an _actual_ hex. It's just ironic, is all. Although, truth be told, I don't remember anything from my past life, so I really couldn't give any reasoning behind it, and the only thing I know for sure about that night twenty-two years ago is Tatsumi finding me and getting me some clothes. We had a nice long chat waiting for Watari to come out of it. He's the only one who's ever seen me like this—aside from you, Hisoka." 

"And you don't know how it happened." 

"I don't know how any of it happened. Seriously, during the implosion/explosion event you couldn't see nothing. And Watari doesn't remember either. He's been trying to piece that night back together for two decades." 

"This is the first I've heard of it." 

"It is a bit of a sore spot for him." She gave him a knowing, lopsided grin. "Well," she amended then, "that and it was deemed too dangerous to ever be attempted again, so King Enma had his memory selectively removed." 

This revelation came as a shock to Hisoka, more so than the others. "He can do that?" 

"He can order it. Mother did it. That information is safe inside her now." 

"But she—" Hisoka shook his head. "It's just a computer." 

"The process is only a simple matter of switching off the proper engrams. Finding the proper engrams, on the other hand . . ." 

"No, I mean . . . A computer can't erase things from a human brain like it was a disk. They're like apples and oranges. Heck, they aren't even in the same food group." 

003 shrugged, as if to say, a fact is a fact. Then she sighed. "Still, it is pretty ironic. That all my wishing we could finally communicate on the same level, no taxonomic barriers, would come to such a pathetic situation as this." 

"Don't you ever leave him messages?" Hisoka said, leaning his chin on his hand. "You know, like IM him or something. He seems like a pretty lonely person." 

003 started. "Are you kidding? I can't do that! Watari would flip out!" 

"But he already knows you're not just a regular bird. Uh, no offense." 

"That's not it." Letting out a deep breath, she slumped her shoulders, and stared blankly at the empty plates in front of her. Perhaps she was picturing Watari as she explained, "Right now he thinks my doing things like using a calculator are cute and — if it makes any sense — normal. Like a parrot who says a truck is red, or a gorilla asking for a kitten. People tend to think of abstract things like language as human traits, but it's still totally excusable in animals because those same people don't attach words like 'consciousness' or 'self-awareness' to them. It's a completely different construction of intimacy. 

"It's not that I _want_ to be just his pet owl forever," she continued, miming a scale with her hands. "I can't tell you how long I've dreamed we could be just two regular human people together. But I don't want our standing to change either. I just feel like if I did something like that, if I revealed myself to him, that . . . that . . ." She struggled to find the words. "Oh, I know it sounds stupid, but that he wouldn't like me anymore. That he might feel like I had betrayed him, playing innocent all this time." 

"I find it hard to believe he would stop liking anyone," Hisoka said as though to himself. "My experience has always been, once he makes up his mind about someone, that's it. But, then, maybe I don't know him as well as I thought. I never realized he's been through that much." 

003 nodded. "He has quite a resilient character. Like one of those punching dolls you hit and they just keep bobbing back up. You know?" 

She mimed a boxing stance and smiled broadly, but it was the admiration in her tone that struck Hisoka. Suddenly he felt guilty for the way he had stared at her all night, forgetting she was anything other than an attractive young woman he had never met before. Whose heart wasn't already fixed on someone else. 

"Hey," he said in a low voice, "you really do love—" 

"You're buzzing," 003 interrupted him, not seeming to have heard, and pointing her fork at his groin. 

"Huh?" He started, then finally noticed the pager the Gushoushin brothers had sent along with them vibrating on his belt loop. "Oh," he said, and took it out. He read the display. "Looks like Gushoushin might have made some progress." 

"M-m—" 003 swallowed. "We should get down there right away." 

And as she said so, she promptly dug into what was left of the slice of lemon meringue, stuffing it into her mouth as fast as physically possible, mopping up the rest of the hoisin sauce with some cheesecake. "You know, it's okay if you don't finish," Hisoka said hesitantly. 

"I know." Another mouthful. "But I feel bad letting it go to waste." 

She picked up the glass of red wine that she had hardly touched and tipped it up; and Hisoka couldn't help watching fascinated as she gradually downed the whole thing and set the empty glass on the table with a finality that would have made the chief envious. He almost forgot about the plates he had been taking to the sink. "Let me help you with those," 003 offered as she jumped nimbly off the stool. 

"It's all right. I can come back and clean up later." 

"Shoot," she said to herself, "and this was my one chance to have chocolate." 

"Tsuzuki's been hiding some nougats in his desk," Hisoka said before he quite thought about it. 

"Oh, wonderful!" 003's face lit up. She gathered the stacks of form feed computer paper together in an untidy pile that looked like it would fall out of her arms at any moment, and on top of that grabbed the can of milk and tea off the counter with the other hand. Managing to keep it all together at nearly a hop as she came over to him, she said, "Hisoka, you're a dear," and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Then he nearly did drop the dishes. 

—

"Being in this place brings to mind the saying about the dew on the morning glory." 

A gentle breeze that had an abnormal warmth of summer in it rustled cherry blossom petals from the branches, making an unearthly _hush_ reverberate throughout the grove. 

"We say the dew disappears and the flower remains, when in fact the flower withers in the morning sun. The moisture that forms the dew eventually evaporates and is incorporated into the larger whole, but when evening comes it returns again to the morning glory. So, it is not that it goes away, but that it simply changes into something else in the meantime." 

A light chink of china hitting china gets sucked up by the heavy, concentrated atmosphere under the trees. 

"Then, technically," said the other, "it is no longer dew. More?" 

Sitting at a small, round outdoor table in the middle of the grove, Muraki regarded his companion half-amused as he leaned back in his seat. Tatsumi held up the teapot, waiting with strained patience. 

In a second, as though just remembering Muraki pushed his cup and saucer closer to the secretary. 

"True," he said as Tatsumi filled his cup. "I will concede that it can technically no longer be called dew." 

When Tatsumi had finished, he handed the cup on its saucer to Muraki, who added a bit of cream. They were silent for a moment, each man regarding his opponent, during which time Muraki took a sip of his tea. 

"You still haven't explained what you're doing here," Tatsumi said then, "in Meifu. It cannot be that you have been killed by some stroke of blind luck, for if that were the case you would have gone through processing upon your demise. And I do believe that, despite your unfathomably twisted character, you are an honest enough man to tell me whether you did or not, regardless of the admission that would be to what is considered by Enma to be a criminal offense, wandering off before your sentencing and trespassing on private property." 

Muraki smiled darkly as he set the cup and saucer back on the table. "You are correct, Tatsumi-san. I have not yet died. That continues to prove a difficult feat." 

"I'll find a way to pull it off eventually." 

"I look forward to your future attempts." 

"Then, may I ask what you are doing here," Tatsumi said coolly, "if not terrorizing our employees or looking to pick a fight?" 

Muraki raised an eyebrow. "You mean, how did I come here?" 

"I'm well-versed in your extensive knowledge of dark magic. But Juuohcho isn't exactly a back alley you can just walk into. There are measures in place to keep creatures like you, Doctor, out." 

"I can't say I really intended to come here at all," Muraki said with a slight shrug. "Call it a stroke of blind luck. I seem to have fallen through a plot hole." 

"A plot hole." Tatsumi slowly nodded to himself, pondering the subject deeply. "Well," he conceded, "there do seem to be quite a few of them popping up lately." 

The two gentlemen stared at the wrought iron table in front of them, dressed in a white tablecloth and porcelain tea setting, and a small assortment of jams. Muraki reached for his cup again. 

In the distance, something rumbled beneath them and rattled the china, at first seeming to come closer and then quickly fading away, like the sound of a helicopter or train passing in the night. Despite its transience, there was a distinct feeling of being watched, though neither man would admit to it in front of the other. 

"I must say," Muraki continued, "it has been quite thrilling, intellectually speaking, to have had this chance to see where the ghosts of my past, present and future sins — if you'll pardon the allusion, Mr Secretary — conduct their daily affairs. The insight has been very rewarding, and the moon spectacular, but I do wish I could have come on one of Juuohcho's better nights." 

"A temporary disturbance, I assure you, and one that we are working on," Tatsumi assured him in the professional manner in which he had been trained to respond to complaints, and reached for the basket of English muffins on the table beside the jams. "Muffin?" 

—

When Hisoka knocked on the door to the records room, he was greeted by a less than pleased Gushoushin the younger. "Is it Tatsumi-san?" his brother called hopefully from inside. 

The younger looked him over like he wasn't sure he was Hisoka at all. Like he could have been a body-snatching alien wearing Hisoka's skin. "Nope. Just Kurosaki," he said with a disappointed sigh. 

"Welcome back, Hisoka," 003 said cheerfully over her shoulder from the computer terminal, which made him feel better. 

Gushoushin the younger eyed the box in Hisoka's hand suspiciously as he stepped into the room. "What's that?" 

"Just some chocolate. I told Zero-zero-three—" 

"There's no eating in this room." 

But 003 had already turned in the chair and stood to take the box from him. "Oh, Hisoka, you didn't have to do that," she said, but didn't seem hesitant in opening them and setting them on the desk next to her work station. Gushoushin was speechless. 

Hisoka blushed. "Eh, yeah, no problem," he stuttered, and the other regarded him smugly. 

"You are so whipped," the Gushoushin said. 

Hisoka ignored him, stepping over to the computer terminals. "So, has there been any improvement since I was gone?" 

"The new barrier system that Zero-zero-three put up has been holding together nicely," the younger said, hovering over his shoulder. "Either that or whatever was disrupting it before has given up." 

"For the meantime," his brother said, occupied with his own work. 

"We still haven't been able to contact Security directly, but . . . again, thanks to her," the younger said as though he really didn't want to, "we have been able to observe the frequency of the anomalies." 

"They do seem to be tapering off," 003 confirmed, "like I was saying earlier. But that doesn't mean we'll go back to situation normal automatically, or that we won't see another spike of activity before the night is through. Now that I've had some time to look over the data, I'm going to tap into the barrier shield system again and see if I can't stabilize it somehow, just in case. It's going to be slow going because I don't have all the codes and will be relying heavily on trial and error, but I'm confident the three of us can make some serious headway in the next few hours." 

"Sounds like you've got a full load on your hands," Hisoka remarked. 

003 nodded. "On top of that, what little activity there is out there right now is still effecting our communication. Luckily I was able to bypass Mother and find another route into Security's control room. For some utterly mysterious reason, we can't reach them by phone, but we can access files and communicate in real-time via the network." 

"That's strange. The pager Gushoushin gave us worked just fine." 

"Yes, well," 003 said with a tilt of her head, eyes still glued to the screen, "I didn't say the phones weren't working, just that we can't get through. Nothing but white noise. You can listen for yourself if you like." 

For a moment, Hisoka thought he would take her up on the offer and reached for the phone. His hand paused on the receiver, however, without lifting it. Some irrational fear kept him from picking it up and putting it to his ear. Whether it was something spurred by his empathy, or a memory brought to the fore of horrific childhood experiences, tuning in to radio frequencies that carried garbled, unintelligible voices and unplaceable sounds rather than songs and talk shows. Sounds that seemed to come from another realm, or even time, from out of a deep, malevolent void. 

"No thanks," he said, withdrawing his hand. "Hm?" 

Distracted by what Gushoushin the elder was doing on the other computer, Hisoka looked over his shoulder at the monitor. "What's this?" he said. 

"Security camera," the Gushoushin said as he cross-referenced the picture of someone's face taken by the camera with employment files. "From before we lost reception. I've been making a list of all the employees who have stayed in the building after hours tonight. The chief will probably want a brief report from all of them, just in case they witnessed anything strange." He paused. "Or . . ." 

"You don't think any of us had anything to do with the computer problems, do you?" Hisoka asked when his and Tsuzuki's photos from a hallway monitor were quickly brought up and discarded. "Or that thing you said was leaning on the shield?" 

"We won't know until we've had an opportunity to ask everyone, will we?" 

Hisoka said nothing, but the Gushoushin's answer did perplex him somewhat. Something about it nagged at his brain, but he couldn't pin-point what that was until the Gushoushin brought up the next picture, and the employee file showed a photo of a young man in his early twenties, with straight black hair, nondescript features, and glasses that were not framed on the underside of the lenses. 

"Hold on a minute," Hisoka said quickly. The Gushoushin did as told, and looked up at him. "I've seen that guy." 

"Of course, you have." 

"No, I mean I saw him tonight, in the building — twice. But I've never seen him before in my life." 

"That doesn't really surprise me," said Gushoushin the younger, to which his brother replied, "It doesn't?" 

"Sure. He tends to keep to himself and works odd hours . . ." 

"Who are you talking about?" 003 said, leaning over in curiosity as she popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth. "Oh, him." 

"You know him?" Hisoka asked her. 

She shrugged. "I wouldn't say I _know_ him, but he comes around every once in a while. To Watari's office. I feel sorry for him. Got an awful persistent case of athlete's foot, that guy." 

"Athlete's foot . . ." Suddenly it all clicked. Hisoka turned away from the screen to her again. "Hey, remember how you said Watari-san was so convinced his project was going to change the way we think about the universe? The one in 'eighty." She nodded, waiting. "Do you think it's possible someone would be so desperate, for whatever reason, that they would try to steal one of his theories? That they would even kill him for it?" 

"I'm sure there are people like that in the living world," she said, eyebrows raised, "but here in Meifu? Besides, like I told you, the key to that particular project is no longer in his head. He wouldn't be any help to anyone trying to steal it for their own profit, dead or alive." 

"What about any of his other inventions? Sex-change formulas?" 

003 shrugged again. "Sorry, but there's not much to steal. If anyone did try, he'd have to know by now it was at his own risk." 

But Hisoka still wasn't buying it. There had been something about the mysterious man that bothered him, something he could not quite place. Something suspicious. He glanced at the screen one more time, his eyes narrowing with resolve. "I'm going to check this out," he said, making for the door. 

The Gushoushin started. "Wait, you can't go down there by yourself!" 

"You don't know the way—" 

"He had the fourth-level basement button in the elevator lit. He can't be that hard to track down. If worse comes to worse, I'll just try feeling him out." 

"In that case," 003 tossed him something, "you'll need this." 

He caught it, and looked down. A simple flashlight. 

"Keep your buzzer on," she said with a confident wink. "And good luck." 

—

In the same elevator again. Alone this time. 

The fourth-level basement light was lit. Hisoka watched as slowly the numbers changed on the strip over the doors. It was past one; he wasn't sure of the exact moment seeing as he hadn't checked the time for a while. The bright fluorescent lights hurt his eyes as though even indoors they had already become well-adjusted to the dark of the deep night. The silence was almost tangible, like a thick fog. It lay about the elevator car as though he and it were hermetically sealed in. Only the faint whir of the cables that reached his ears thickly assured him that he still had his hearing. 

At last the chime _dinged_ and the metal doors slid open. Perhaps he hadn't known what to expect. With all 003's talk of dark matter universes and the feeling of being monitored that had hit him again with the suggestion of white noise, Hisoka should have worked his imagination into a frenzy. However, the complete and utter ordinariness of the basement level that he now alighted on worked to kill most of that paranoia. Still, cautiously, looking around, he slowly stepped out of the elevator car onto the linoleum. 

It was dim in the hallway, and totally still. Not a sound could be heard but his own footsteps muffled on the floor and the pounding of his heart echoing in his ear. Directly in front of him was a semi-circular plywood clerical desk, the kind used in hospitals and nursing homes. There was no one behind it, the only living thing here a potted fern. Beside the elevator was a stainless steel drinking fountain, and two short hallways extended from this small area: one off to his left and one straight back. Each had a number of doors, but as they were both dead ends there were only so many places he could go. 

Come to think of it, the whole fourth-level basement looked like a chunk lifted from a hospital or nursing home. 

A loud grating noise behind him made him jump and reach for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. But it turned out to be just the elevator, closing its doors for the return trip. He nearly fainted from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Taking a very deep breath, he turned back to the hallway to determine which way to go. 

He didn't need to use his powers to figure that out. At the end of the hallway ahead of him was a large set of double doors. An AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY stencil across them. The fluorescent light above blinked spasmodically, its right half clinging to life. 

"It couldn't be that simple," Hisoka muttered to himself, and took off straight for it. 

Through the double doors was a long, narrow space like a service corridor. Plumbing and heating pipes lined the wall. There was something like an electrical generator behind metal grating. A quick push off the wall told him all he needed to know: the man with the earphones had come this way. 

But when he opened the heavy door at the end, pitch black and the echo of trickling water suddenly assaulted his senses. 

Half-blinded and deaf, Hisoka reached for the flashlight that 003 had given him and pointed it into the darkness before him. Dark concrete walls and ceiling stretched away in every direction, branching off into tunnels farther down. It certainly did not look welcoming. But the man had come this way, that he knew for sure, and he was not about to let Watari's murderer get away when Hisoka had come so close to uncovering his identity and bringing him to justice. He jumped down from his ledge. 

And shin deep into black, slimy water. Perfect, Hisoka thought, the sewer. 

Still he trudged on, letting his determination and the traces of the strange man's presence guide the way through the maze of tunnels. At one point he swore he heard whistling through one of the drainage pipes. Swinging his flashlight, he zeroed in on the one down which it was coming, and stopped to listen. He couldn't place the melody, but the voice sounded familiar. Thinking maybe that was the way he was supposed to go, he went to climb up into it — and immediately hit his head on something hard. 

"Ouch," he hissed, rubbing his crown. He shown his flashlight down the pipe. But there was nothing solid there. He carefully reached out his hand. No mistake, there was in fact something there, even if it was totally transparent. He got a sense of hunger and curiosity and wildness from the other side. "A barrier seal?" he wondered aloud, looking up. Was he under the outer edges of the office building complex already? 

Nonetheless he kept going, until he rounded a bend and came face to face with a towering waterfall. There was just one problem: despite all the raging water pouring down it, this waterfall made no sound. Just the same languid trickling of before. It must be another illusion, he told himself. The signal, and the tunnel, ended here. Whoever was behind it must have wanted to keep others as far away as possible — which seemed to him to fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer. Not even taking so much as a deep breath, Hisoka ducked under the waterfall. 

Which was a big mistake. 

For all it made little more than a whisper of sound, it was made of honest-to-God water. Cold water. Buckets and buckets of it. Instantly soaked, he gasped in surprise, and fumbled blindly for the doorknob behind, stumbling into the room when it fell open and closing it bodily behind him. 

There he stood for a few moments with his back against the door, catching the breaths the shock of it all had forced out of him. Then he remembered why he was there, and calming his breathing, drew his gun quietly and carefully stepped further into the room. 

On second thought, to call it a 'room' per se did not do the place justice. He could not see all of it, but what details were apparent told that the space was huge, like a warehouse or national library, and circular like a great rotunda. Rows of tall bookcases lined the walls, disappearing without end into the darkness. There were crates stacked up here and there randomly, their sides stamped with various languages, most of which he did not recognize. In what seemed to be the center, on a raised platform, was the mounted skeleton of a titanic creature the likes of which he couldn't begin to guess. 

That is because Hisoka's attention was not focused on the skeleton. It was focused on the dark-haired, suited young man who sat with his back to Hisoka at the oak desk some dozen paces before it. Slowly, his heart pounding hard in his chest, his clothes dripping on the floor, Hisoka drew the gun and trained it on the back of the man's head. The man at the desk stopped what he was doing at the unmistakable sound of its cocking, and slowly raised his arms, showing his empty hands. 

"How're your feet?" Hisoka called to him, trying to sound menacing through chattering teeth. 

The man let out an amused chuckle, ending in a sigh. And to Hisoka's surprise, he didn't seem alarmed in the least when he said, "What took you so long?" 

—  
tbc 


	11. Into the Depths

3/25/05: Thanks a bunch for the helpful reviews. I have changed some wording at the end of chapter 10 so that hopefully it's more consistent. 

* * *

Tsuzuki whistled as they walked along through the basement of the Castle of Candles. The sound echoed off the unadorned steel plated walls and pipes of the hallway they were currently passing through. Hands folded behind his head, he looked up and could just make out the shapes of giant fans installed into openings in the wall, sitting motionless. 

"Hey, do you mind?" Terazuma said as he walked ahead. "I can't hear myself think when you're doing that." 

"Maybe that's a good thing," Wakaba said softly beside him. "I don't want to think about all the things that could be hiding down here. It gives me the willies." 

The whistling stopped, replaced by the faint sound of "Night Ferryboat" coming again from some unseen speakers and the slow dripping of water, and the two turned and looked behind them. 

Tsuzuki had stopped and was looking up. "Don't you find it strange," he said, "that nothing seems to be working down here?" 

"Hakushaku did say he had to seal the first through fifth floors," Wakaba tried. "Maybe that meant shutting them down too." 

"It just feels . . ." Tsuzuki searched for the word. 

Instead of finishing, he bent down and was looking at something on the floor. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he picked up a masticated fish skeleton up by the tail. He sniffed the air slightly. "Just as I thought," he said. 

"What?" said the others, coming up to him. 

"Well, either Hakushaku's basement has a cat problem, which is entirely plausible, or Gollum lives, which is not, or there were kappa here. I'm betting it's the latter. I'd know that smell anywhere." 

"Kappa?" said the other two, startled. "As in the water sprites that pull your insides out your bum?" Terazuma said. 

"Why? Scared?" 

"Don't be ridiculous." Terazuma looked around anyway. "I'm just concerned for Kannuki's sake. It's not like _you'd_ have anything to worry about, Tsuzuki. They wouldn't want _your_ liver." 

Tsuzuki dropped the fish, shaking his head. "That's just an old wives' tale. They're not as dangerous as everyone thinks. Perverted, yes, but that's about it. King Enma's got a fondness for them, so he gets them work inside Meifu's infrastructure. As long as they stay out of Juuohcho's main office complex, they're allowed free reign. They keep to themselves and dark, damp areas, though, so you never see them around. They probably use these tunnels to get to and from Chijou." 

"Say, how do you know so much about them?" Wakaba asked. 

"Birds of a feather, eh, Tsuzuki?" Terazuma teased. 

Tsuzuki shot him a mean look. "They helped me out on a case when I first started out," he said. "Long before you were born." 

"Did they make you an honorary kappa?" 

Tsuzuki ignored him. "In any case, I wonder where they all went. This place feels deserted. It's almost as if something drove them away." 

Just then, they heard a high-pitched, scratchy scream like something in the throes of death from up ahead. 

"What are the chances of that being cats?" Wakaba said. But, of course, the threesome knew, they couldn't be that lucky. 

Gathering their courage, they took off in a run in the direction of the noise, turning corners through the dead pipes and steel and concrete corridors until they arrived at a big set of double doors. They pushed through those and came into a sterile-looking place with linoleum floors and planters here and there. They looked around, trying to find a source of the sound, but this place also looked deserted. 

No. On second glance, there were shapes moving in the corners. Two roughly humanoid bodies looked up at the intrusion. One that was rattling a vending machine like a chimpanzee abruptly stopped. After a stunned silence, a sound arose like the grumbling of stomachs, but it was much louder and more sinister than any one person could produce. Slowly, zombies emerged from the shadows around the room, drawn by the heat off the shinigami's warm bodies. 

"I, uh, think we hit the jackpot," Wakaba said nervously as the three bunched together. "I'll take your word on the kappa, Tsuzuki, but I don't think our livers are out of the woods just yet." 

The dry gurgling increased as they drew nearer, and from their lip-less mouths in their heads hanging crooked on their shoulders came the unmistakable cry of: "_Brains!_" 

"How original," Terazuma said around his cigarette and pumped his shotgun, ready for action. 

When the first one leaped out at them hungry for their flesh, he fired a round and blew it apart like old firewood. Wakaba whipped out her MAC-10s and proceeded to pump the zombies full of lead, while Tsuzuki, borrowing her halberd, sliced them into pieces, covering his back every now and then with a fuda. 

They managed to eliminate most of the first wave, but even more were gathering in the wings, lured by the sound of action. Their cat-in-heat screams and growls for brains echoed through their ranks. 

"It's no use going on like this," said Tsuzuki; "we need a strategy," and Terazuma grunted his agreement. 

"You're right." Wakaba had an idea. "Oh, Hajime-chan!" she chimed, and he freaked when he saw her coming toward him with arms wide open. He knew exactly what was going on in her head. 

"No, Kannuki, don't!" he cried, panicking, trying to hold her off with the butt of the shotgun. "If you have an ounce of mercy—" 

"Come on," she said, dejected, looking for a way to catch him off his guard. "Just let me hug you and it will all be over!" 

"I told you no way! I don't care if it does work!" 

Meanwhile, Tsuzuki had found a gap in the zombies' numbers and took advantage of it. "Follow me," he said, and the other two — much to Terazuma's relief — stopped and did as told. "I've got an idea," Tsuzuki explained as they ran. 

"Please don't say it involves trying to blend in with them." 

"No. If we can get to Fluffy, we can stop the zombies from coming through the portal or whatever he's using to bring them here. We'll have to clean up what's left anyway, but—" 

"At least no more will be able to get into the Castle," Terazuma finished, nodding. "I like your plan." 

They ran through a lobby-like area, past undead who were just arriving from other dark corridors that led who knows where. After a little while, down a short flight of stairs, their footsteps were cushioned by commercial-grade carpet, and the sound finally died behind them. 

"I think we might have lost them," Tsuzuki said, panting for breath and clutching his irritated stomach as they slowed their pace. 

But as they rounded the corner, a thousand decaying heads turned at the intrusion, a thousand pairs of glowing eyes turning in their lidless sockets right toward the threesome. 

"Famous last words," Wakaba said, and together she and Tsuzuki turned on their heels and retreated, covering their ears as the zombies let out a blood-curdling scream all as one. "Look, elevators!" she pointed out with renewed hope. But then they realized they were missing one of their number. 

They turned and looked behind them, and saw Terazuma just standing there facing the zombies. "Come on, Terazuma!" they called. "You've gotta get out of there!" 

"I know!" he yelled back. "You think I'm standing here for my health? I can't move, geniuses!" 

"Oh no," said Wakaba, "their screams must have affected his sensitive hearing in some way." 

As they watched the zombies surrounded him, piling onto his legs and his shoulders and dry-humping him with their skeletal bodies. 

"What are they doing! Get 'em off, get 'em off!" Terazuma yelled. One of them had attached itself to his head like an octopus and was trying to gnaw out his brains with toothless gums. "This is so humiliating!" 

Tsuzuki moved to help him, hopeless though it seemed, but Wakaba grabbed his jacket sleeve. "Give him a minute," she said patiently as her partner was engulfed in a pile of molesting zombies. 

The pile moved and bubbled outward, and then exploded sending the gyrating reanimated corpses hurling up into the air. Terazuma was gone, and from where he had been Kagan Kokushungei, the humongous fire-eyed black lion guardian god, rose up shaking his wild mane and long horns with a roar of outrage. Then he proceeded to tear up the place, tossing zombies about like they were paper dolls with careless kicking and stamping of his feet. In no time at all he had trampled their bodies to dust or flung them willy-nilly or set their corpses on fire so that nothing was left — except the god's inconsolable anger at being violated by a mob of living dead. 

"Well, I guess it's time to bring him out of it," Wakaba said with a sigh, leafing through her collection of fuda. Finding the right one, she nimbly jumped up into the air and stuck it to the lion's forehead. 

In an instant he stopped his tirade, stunned, and shrank down until only Terazuma was left, sitting on his rear and looking rather more disheveled then before. He rubbed his head and groaned. "Damn parasite . . ." 

"Dang, you did well!" Wakaba said. She put her hands on her hips as she looked around. "Not a standing zombie in sight. See? Kuro-chan took care of everything for us, just like I told you he would." 

She smiled to reassure him, but Terazuma glared. 

"How do you feel?" Tsuzuki asked, giving him a hand up. 

"Like a need a shower. —And a cigarette." He blushed slightly as he picked up his shotgun. "You know, I'd appreciate it if we never mentioned this again." 

—

"Maybe this will cheer you up," Wakaba told him, pointing into the darkness. "Look. An elevator. We can take that straight down to the next floor, without having to look around for a staircase and, in the meantime, possibly run into any more zombies. Or worse." 

"I'm all for that," Terazuma said with a grunt. 

The three got into the shiny little car when it arrived and pressed the B5 button on the button panel. It glided smoothly down its shaft and in no time at all — unlike the antique contraption Watson had brought them down — it opened on a floor clearly marked B5. They breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, they had made it. 

They hadn't really known what to expect. Basement level five ended in a humongous set of thick, steel doors. There were no other corridors branching off, and no way they could see to get past the doors' security system. The key pad guarded its secrets, charms yielded nothing, and the camera no doubt leading back to that little three-headed pug some floors above them just swiveled in their direction. 

"No way to go but down," Tsuzuki said as they piled back in the elevator. He pushed the button for B6. "There has to be another way up from there." 

When the doors opened again, though, their hearts sank a little bit. The outer doors refused to open. Instead they displayed a sloppily-written OUT OF ORDER sign across their inside. So much for the floor that could not be corrupted. Disappointed, they pressed the last marked button, B7, and the doors slid shut again. 

There was no real floor to speak of on B7, nor any walls. Just stalactites hanging down from a rough limestone ceiling, mineral deposits sparkling here and there in various colors, and some pools of water glistening phosphorescently in the rock before their feet. It was a beautiful sight, but none of them was in the mood to appreciate it. "I guess . . . this is it?" said Wakaba uncertainly, and her voice was swallowed up by the dank darkness. 

With nowhere else to go, the three went in the direction their feet were pointing, following the trickling sound of water down into the depths. It was slower going, what with all sort of formations lying in their path in the dark to trip them up, so that after a little while Tsuzuki couldn't help but ask, "How are we supposed to know which way to go?" 

"Let me check." Wakaba got out the GPS, but it couldn't connect to the satellite — or whatever the Earl's brand used. "That's funny," she said. "The GPS can't find a signal." 

"You mean we have to find our own way around down here?" moaned Tsuzuki. "That could take forever." 

"But the cave _does_ seem to be moving in a particular direction." 

"At least it's a little warmer down here. I can't complain about that." 

"Yeah, and that pesky song's stopped, too," said Terazuma, surveying the landscape carefully. The sound of a stream and the eerie glow returned. Then Tsuzuki started. 

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me. . . ." He dug around in his pockets for the little cell phone the secretary had given him earlier. "Tatsumi wanted me to call and inform him of our progress. I guess it's been a few hours. . . ." 

As he said that, he dialed the appropriate number, then pushed the "call" button. 

But instead of a ring tone, all he heard was static and garbled, unintelligible sounds that might have been a voice speaking in some alien language, or even just the aftertaste of the Big Bang floating through space. He pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. It read "connecting," but what it was trying to connect to was another matter entirely. He hung up, saying, "I can't get reception down here," but when he had done so the phone showed a strong signal. 

Terazuma's gaze fixed on something in a distant corner, and he said to the others, "Follow me. My detective's intuition is telling me we should go this way." 

"Detective intuition? . . ." The two exchanged glances. "Where was that an hour or two ago?" 

"You're forgetting the monkey on my back lets me see things you guys can't," he bragged. "I'm like a cat down here. For example, see those stairs cut into the rock over there?" 

Tsuzuki squinted. "What stairs?" 

"Exactly," Terazuma said as he held a fresh cigarette between his lips and fished out a lighter. "Just keep close and follow the light of my butt." 

They treaded down the twists and turns of the rough-hewn staircase as it delved further into the cave, seeming to follow a trailing underground stream where blind cave fish and strange molds glowed occasionally. Then the stairs turned steeply uphill and before long the other two were falling behind. 

"Come on, ladies, buck up. We're almost there," Terazuma told them like some sort of gym teacher. 

The other two shot him icy glares and complained of hunger and stomach aches, and having to walk through his exhaust the whole way. But they made it to the crest of the hill anyway and through the stalagmites they caught a glimpse of a large rectangular opening in the limestone rock face that the stairs led right into. For all intents and purposes, it looked like the mouth of a corridor. 

"What did I tell you?" Terazuma said out of the corner of his mouth and gazed up at the structure. "Like shooting monkeys in a barrel." 

Tsuzuki raised an eyebrow. "Not a bad bit of navigation." 

A big smile lit up Terazuma's face. "Is that a compliment, Tsuzuki? Wow. Hold on a minute and let me savor this rare moment. Let me put it under glass and preserve it for posterity." 

"Then again, we would have found it eventually," Tsuzuki tried with a shrug, but Terazuma just grinned. 

Wakaba went in for a better look. "This tunnel looks artificial," she said. "Someone made it, so it must lead somewhere." 

She turned around to see the two looking at her like she had to be joking. 

"What? It must." 

—

"Now, we don't know what to expect in here," said Terazuma, "so try not to make any loud noises and keep an eye out for booty traps." 

"Don't you mean—" said Wakaba started to correct him from behind, then realized the futility. "Never mind." 

Meanwhile, Tsuzuki who was trailing behind again was looking up at the walls of the corridor. The surface was vaguely shiny and multifaceted like it radiated its own light. "Look at the way the light reflects here," he said, not watching where he was going. "Like it has some kind of ore—" 

He didn't get to finish as he tripped and fell flat on his face with an awkward "oof." 

"A booty trap!" Terazuma said, spinning. "Kannuki!" He reached out instinctively to pull her down just in case Tsuzuki's fall prompted any poison darts to shoot out of the walls or giant balls to be released. The two landed on the stone hard. 

"It's okay," Tsuzuki reassured them, pulling himself up. He picked up what had tripped him which scraped the floor with a metallic sound. "It looks like it was just some old armor someone left—" 

He stared at the two: Terazuma with his arm around Wakaba. "There's something wrong with this picture." 

Stunned, Terazuma sat up and ran his hands over his body to make sure he was really there. "I didn't transform!" he murmured. "That's a first." 

"Maybe because you only had my safety in mind," Wakaba tried, "it didn't count." 

"Maybe," he said, "or maybe it's just another reason to find a way off this level as fast as possible. Hey, Tsuzuki, let me see some of that armor you found. We might be able to use it." 

He put out his hands as though ready to catch it, so Tsuzuki tossed the helmet to him. However, maybe that wasn't his intent, or maybe it was a really bad throw, because the chucked helmet went right past Terazuma to clank loudly against the floor in the dark behind him several times, echoing off the strange walls like a ricochet until it finally rolled to a stop. The three stood still on baited breath. 

"What are you doing, Tsuzuki, you idiot?" Terazuma hissed after a moment. "Trying to alert everyone to our position?" 

"Me? What about your brilliant catch?" Tsuzuki shot back. "I thought you could see in the dark. Like a cat! Lightning reflexes—" 

"I didn't say I wanted you to throw it to me!" 

"Then you really should learn to watch the signals you're sending, buddy." 

Meanwhile Wakaba was trying to make something out over their bickering. "Would you two shut up!" she said. "_Shh!_ Listen." 

The two finally fell silent, and when they did they heard something that sounded like the low rumbling hum of heavy machinery reverberating through the chamber. However, as it grew nearer and louder they were able to discern it wasn't that at all but the gurgling of thousands of collected bodies moving through the corridors like fish spawning, as fast as their lumbering gaits would carry them. 

—  
_brains . . . _


	12. Sam Spade, Emotionalize, Frequency

_Since the first time I saw him in the hall, I knew the guy was trouble. When he passed us on the way to Watari-san's office, something careless about his gait or the look in his eyes, like a man with a purpose and a place to do it, piqued my suspicion — and in this crazy place, it isn't just anytime, anymore, my suspicion gets piqued. Not to mention I can't stand that high and mighty kind of character. I should have known something was up when I couldn't read any vibes off the guy. But who knew murder could smell like book glue and small electronics? By the time I added up two and two to make four it was too late for Watari-san; but so long as I still had a shadowy semblance of a pulse, and the mysterious stranger in my sight, I wanted answers; and I wasn't going to rest until I had them—_

—

"Aren't you getting a little tired of this yet?" said the dark-haired young stranger in the suit and glasses. He turned slowly in his chair, his hands still up in the air, an assured smile planted firmly on his lips. It bugged Hisoka, made him think he was going to try something funny. He kept his pistol steady. "Tired of what?" 

The other shrugged. 

"The air in this place tonight. It's like a major case of deja vu. Sam Spade on auto-repeat. It's so cliche it hurts, don't you think?" 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Hisoka briefly turned his eyes. 

"So," said the other with much too much enthusiasm for his predicament, "I suppose you've finally come to accuse me of murdering Watari." 

"That's right," Hisoka said warily. "Am I to take that as an admission of guilt?" 

To his surprise, the other man laughed. "If I was going to do something like that, don't you think I'd want to be the one with the gun? At least I'd have prepared a monologue or something. The bad guys always have a set up like that. . . . For that matter, how do I know you're not the murderer, trying to cover your tracks?" 

"Don't be ridiculous!" 

The stranger shrugged. "Of course, I know you're not responsible. Word's been going around, that's all. So let's just get it all out in the open right now, shall we?" With hands still raised, he lowered his head in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't murder Watari." 

"But I saw you going to his office. You were the last person to see him alive, and you match Watari-san's description of the man who had been snooping around his concoctions lately." 

"Unfortunately for your theory, however, I have the means but zero motive. You see, I had the misfortune of dying with a rather persistent case of athlete's foot. I've tried plenty of different treatments over the many years I've been dead, and Watari's is the only kind I've never built up a tolerance to. Honestly, now, would I get rid of my only source of relief?" 

Hisoka said nothing while he tried to wrap his mind around the other's answer. Was he supposed to take that as a motive for or against? 

In any case, he came to a decision — against his logic's better judgment — and lowered the gun. "All right. Do you have any better explanations, then?" 

"Really, Watari's untimely death is the least of our worries at the moment. For one, you're soaked to the bone." 

Hisoka looked down at his clothes that were now dripping wet in addition to smelling vaguely like whiskey and sewage. As though he had been prepared for just this, the stranger pulled a wad of clothes from a drawer in his desk and tossed them to Hisoka. "You might want to change into something a little less sticky." 

"How thoughtful," said Hisoka upon unraveling the bundle of throwbacks to 1986. 

"For another," the other continued, "I have some information that I urgently need to share with you. I was hoping to speak with you sooner, but we should still have time." 

Was it just Hisoka's imagination, or was there a condescending tone to the other's voice meant just for Hisoka as he said that last bit? "Incidentally," he said looking up, "who are you? . . . And where are we?" 

The other gave him a charming smile. 

"You can call me Natsume," he said. "And this is the storeroom for the various artifacts and creatures Enma has collected and catalogued over the centuries. I like to refer to it as my humble office." 

Hisoka took a closer look at the giant creature mounted behind Natsume's desk. He was quite familiar with the existence of dragons by now not to try and fool himself into thinking it was otherwise; but it made an impressive backdrop for one's workspace nonetheless. Between that and the various other skulls and bones around it he could not place, the place looked like some university backroom, impossible to all but the initiated to find, where the actual scientific work went on. There was an ancient computer on Natsume's desk, hooked up to a giant server which was being cooled by an industrial fan. On the other side of the desk was a rather impressive compact Stonehenge of porcelain and crystal figurines of kittens in various adorable poses, intermixed with a few collectable plates on stands with the same subject matter. 

Looking up from the multitude squished-in faces of Persian kittens, Hisoka said, "All the time I've been here I've never heard of you." 

"I'm not that surprised," said Natsume. "I am what you would call a phantom character." 

"Phantom character?" 

"Is there an echo? That's right. They probably thought my qualities overlapped a little too much with the rest of the cast, so they relegated me down here. You know, black hair, creepy glasses, animal sidekick—" 

Hisoka jumped as something brushed past his leg. "Jesus! What was—" he started, before realizing with much embarrassment that it was only a calico cat. 

"My animal sidekick," said Natsume as said cat jumped onto his desk and rubbed Natsume's hand affectionately. "K." 

Hisoka shook his head. 

"This is just too much," he said. "You expect me to believe a man named Natsume with a cat fetish and a sidekick named K." 

"Well, yes." Natsume blinked as he stroked the cat. "What's wrong with that?" 

"Don't you think it's just a little too convenient? I mean, that's like a guy named Kafka having a pet cockroach, or if someone called Adams kept rabbits." 

Hisoka was, of course, referring to the fact that Natsume Soseki, the most famous novelist in Japan, listed among his repertoire a series called _I am a Cat_ and a character referred to as, simply, K. But Natsume didn't seem to get the connection. "You look cold," he said instead, again referring, of course, to Hisoka's soaked and dripping clothes. 

—

A good fifteen minutes later found Hisoka pacing the collection of skulls and bones around Natsume's desk dressed like a New Kid on the Block, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea while his clothes dried in front of the fan. K sat on the edge of the desk like an oversized figurine regarding Hisoka curiously, and Hisoka — trying to avoid looking back — could just sense some monologue about the sad appearance of his present self working itself out in that cat's head. 

Meanwhile, Natsume poked his head up from where he had been bent over a cabinet like the kind for storing maps. "Ah . . . I think I found it!" he yelled reassuringly to Hisoka from across the room. "Wait . . . no, this is the wrong date. Who filed these things anyway? . . ." 

"What are you looking for?" Hisoka asked disinterestedly. 

"Plans," came the noncommittal reply. 

"Well, if you were expecting my company, shouldn't you have retrieved them long ago?" 

Natsume was silent for a moment. "Huh," he said as though the thought had never occurred to him, and went back to searching. 

Meanwhile, one particular skull had occupied Hisoka's attention. It was vaguely gazelle-like in shape and size, a little flatter around the mouth and nostrils like a camel. What was remarkable about it, however, was the single large protrusion on the top of the skull just behind the eye sockets, which sat there like an old withered tree trunk. He reached a hand out tentatively to touch it. 

"Didn't think they actually exist, did you?" said Natsume, approaching with a roll of translucent paper under his arm. 

"Didn't think what existed?" 

"Unicorns." 

Hisoka drew his hand back like he'd been burned. "You're kidding me." 

"Well, technically it's a kirin, which is completely unrelated to the western variety. See, those share an ancestor with the modern rhinoceros, whereas kirin are clearly artiodactylous. I could show you a Germanic specimen if you're interested—" 

"That's all right," Hisoka said quickly. He indicated the roll under Natsume's arm. "Is that what you wanted to discuss with me?" 

"Right." 

Natsume quickly cleared a spot on one of the worktables and spread out the blueprints, setting a couple of straggling crystal cat figurines to hold down the corners. On the paper were the remarkably well drawn and finely detailed plans for a boxy robot with caterpillar treads and prehensile appendages sticking out of its otherwise nondescript shell. There were several sensory apparatuses scattered on the surface to make a sort of monstrous countenance — a cluster of cameras here, a microphone there, a small screen on the front — that, knowing Watari, would probably have looked to its creator as endearing as an infant's pudgy face. 

"This is what Watari was working on twenty-two years ago," Natsume began, "when on the night of the—" 

"Of the lunar eclipse it mysteriously disappeared, leaving Watari-san with no recollection," Hisoka finished. "Yeah, I heard that part. So, what is it?" 

"It's a prototype recognition AI, ECRU-Seventy-nine-Ex-oh-three. Apparently it was supposed to house a complex artificial personality able to collect and process information about its environment, and in time learn from those experiences how to react appropriately to the various factors in it, such as different individuals. I guess in short it was an experiment to see if a program could eventually come to imitate the mental processes we take for granted every day, and for a while its progress was rather promising — that is, if Watari's notes can be trusted." He smiled. "I never got to see it in action, myself. But from these specs it seems it wouldn't have been much bigger than a basset hound. What's the look for?" 

"You mean this is his precious lost invention? A Commodore Sixty-four on wheels? I don't see what the big deal is." 

Natsume looked at him like he was daft. "You're kidding, right? You're looking at the plans for the machine that could revolutionize the way we think about perception itself, and you think it's no big deal?" 

Hisoka shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was just expecting something different." 

The other thought for a long moment, then revised, "Well, it's not the most impressive-looking thing in the world, I'll give you that. But when you think about it, it didn't have to be to serve its purpose. Any old box would do. As they say, the physical body is just a shell. The internal mechanisms it houses — the synapses, the electricity, breath, the spirit — the true beauty of it is in there, where it can't be grasped. You've seen Aibo and Asimo in action?" 

"Yeah, on television." 

"Well, they seem to exhibit a remarkable range for spontaneous action, recognition, producing the correct responses — in fact, you might even say they seem almost human, but that's a scam. The ones in the demonstrations are just actors: preprogrammed to run on a continuous loop. One slip-up on the part of the human co-conspirator and the illusion fabricated for a hungry audience is ruined. It's easy to believe we might not be alone, that there might be intelligences besides ours, intelligences of our own creation, silicon golems that will obey our every command and still be spontaneous enough to surprise us with a good joke or some random cuteness. Hell, I want to believe it." 

"I guess for normal people, these days, there's something comforting about a machine having a little bit of a mind of its own," Hisoka said as though to himself, raising the mug to his lips. "At least, it's not as disturbing as, say, the existence of demons or undead watching their every move." 

"Exactly. Now, as I was saying, those models are frauds. However — what Watari was building, on the other hand, was the genuine product. A homunculus of a contraption whose mind was alive, that could continue to grow and learn based on the knowledge it had accumulated. Not just recognize patterns but actually process, adapt, judge, predict. _Emotionalize_. He wanted it to ultimately be able to assign value to various things in its environment like a living organism." 

"Could he actually do that? I mean, it goes against one of the fundamental laws of the universe, doesn't it? To create something from nothing?" 

"Well, you could say the same thing about us. How do four measly nucleotides determine who we are and how we end up different from everyone else? It's all a matter of programming, of which Watari is a regular genius. At least, was, until—" 

"Until the summer of nineteen-eighty, when Mother selectively wiped his memory. Zer— someone told me." 

"Then, did that person tell you that that same summer's night Watari actually lost _two_ inventions without a trace?" 

Now, _that_ was new. "No," said Hisoka, "I hadn't heard that. I mean, I heard about the one. I just assumed it was some kind of chemical solution that was going to revolutionize the way we do laundry, or a revamped food processor or something." 

"Hm, I guess you could say it was something like that." 

"Yeah, a memory processor. A recognizer droid." 

"Ironic, isn't it? It would have revolutionized the way we do laundry, too. But, no. This other thing was much bigger, and much more dangerous." 

Saying that, Natsume pulled the top sheet of paper which held the designs of the ECRU-79-X03 from the table like a magician pulls away a scarf, revealing something far more sinister underneath. The image this time was sketchier, less professional, as though it had been drawn and edited in a frantic manner, yet it still looked far cleaner than anything Watari produced now. Maybe the memory wipe had also affected Watari's drafting skills, Hisoka thought, but didn't actually believe something as ludicrous as that. 

"He was a brilliant engineer, Watari was," said Natsume as though reading his train of thought. "Back in the day. Really. A better engineer than chemist. I think machines were his real passion." 

"And I take it this thing is the reason for the switch? This . . ." He took a closer look at the plans. A series of pipes like a crammed-together horn section protruded from something vaguely tripodal, with viscera of knobs and wires like those on a Moog synthesizer. "'Tee-vee-cee One-five'?" 

Natsume smiled at something that went right over Hisoka's head. "Yes, interesting choice of name, but then Watari always has been eccentric like that. That's one thing Mother can't change." 

Then he tapped the drawing of the so-dubbed TVC-15 and brought his thumb to his lips in thought, looking as though the thing had somehow bit him. "This thing, however, I can't get any clear information on. This drawing is all that's left of it, and even that appears to be a lucky fluke. Any physical record of its working seems to have been destroyed along with Watari's memory. Even if he remembered anything remotely useful, it's not like he can be of any use now, is it?" 

"So, you don't even know what this machine did?" 

Natsume shook his head. "All I know is that it was somehow responsible for what happened that night in 'eighty. What's more, I have a theory that it is the same thing that is responsible for what's happening tonight. The electrical disturbance, the problem with the phones, the fluctuations in Meifu space — they all bear remarkable similarity to the accounts of that night. 

"I've been trying to piece the puzzle back together. You'll notice the switchboard on the body of the machine kind of resembles a synthesizer. And knowing Watari's love of music, I wouldn't be surprised if he designed the Tee-vee-cee One-five as some kind of musical instrument. Perhaps it was an instrument to be used to affect the world around it, like some kind of tuning fork, re-tuning the world through forced resonance. Imagine a kidney stone dissolving — or better yet, Galloping Gertie but all over, everything exciting itself on the molecular level until it can no longer hold its structure and falls apart." 

"You make it sound like a weapon." 

"Well, it must have been dangerous to acquire such a high level of secrecy." 

"But you're forgetting who we're talking about, here. It doesn't sound like Watari-san to make a weapon like that — at least, not the Watari-san I know. Besides—" Hisoka crossed his arms skeptically. "This stuff is just hypothetical. Only sci-fi buffs and New Agers believe in the 'music of the spheres.'" 

"Yet there are many respected members in the field who believe that sound is an untapped resource. Maybe it couldn't quite be used to levitate the stones that make the Great Pyramid, but consider this. Everything has a frequency, including our own bodies and thought-waves. There are certain frequencies that certain muscles in your body respond to, such as your heart or the muscles that move your bowels. Some think that if you could narrow down a certain harmony a thing emits, and reverse it, you could cancel out the sound that thing produces. Or worse, if you could discover at what frequency something destroys itself, and channel that frequency — well, I'm sure you can imagine you'd have a device with some rather deadly potential on your hands. Something that you wouldn't want getting into the _wrong_ hands." 

"And that's why you think Mother was programmed to wipe those parts of Watari-san's memory." 

"Well," Natsume shrugged, "it would make sense on a practical level, especially if he was destroying Meifu property." 

"If that's the case, I'd be surprised if Tatsumi-san didn't want to kill him himself." 

Natsume chuckled, then quickly sobered. "Which brings us to the problem at hand. We thought the Tee-vee-cee One-five had been destroyed; but all things considering, we must be prepared for the possibility someone, somehow, has brought it back to life and is using it to take down the complex's defense shields. That's why I thought it urgent to fill you in on that night, because I'm going to need your help counteracting the device. Otherwise, the shield could come down at any moment. I'm afraid we're going to have to wing it, but surely you can see that with Watari gone, we're left in quite a bind." 

"Yes, that's what we thought, too, but we managed to take care of it." 

Natsume looked as though he'd just had the wind blown out of his sails of ominousness. "Really?" 

"Er, yeah." Hisoka rubbed the back of his neck. "It's really only a temporary solution, but they're sure they can get the shield to hold for a little while." 

"Who's 'they'? The Gushoushin brothers?" 

"Well . . ." Hisoka's thoughts returned to 003, in all her brainy and very much human beauty. Surely Natsume wouldn't believe him if Hisoka told him, despite how many other improbable things they had been discussing. "They were part of it." 

"Then what are we doing wasting time here? There's no more to lose," Natsume said with a renewed sense of urgency, and began rolling up the papers on the desk. "We have to take these plans to them right away; they don't know what they're up against. The fate of existence itself might be at stake." 

"Don't you think you might be exaggerating?" Hisoka began, grabbing his clothes from in front of the fan. "You said yourself you don't even know what that thing does." 

K jumped down from his perch on the desk with a jingle of bells as Natsume turned to fix him a dramatic look. 

"I hope I am exaggerating," he said in a grave voice. "For both our sakes, I sincerely hope I am." 

Then he dropped the spooky tone the next moment as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "You can fill me in on the details on the way up. Come, K-kun." 

With a sense of dread, Hisoka turned back toward the way he had come, in the direction of the quietly raging waterfall. 

"Oh no, not that way," Natsume stopped him with a chuckle as though to say he should have known better. "That's just to discourage the nebelungs from coming in here." And he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "This way is much dryer." 

"What are—" Hisoka began, but thought better of it as Natsume wasn't really paying him much attention, and he thought nebelungs sounded like something he'd rather not know about. Stifling a curse, he followed Natsume back into the dark rows of shelves and file cabinets, thinking that the more he got to know the young man, the less he liked him. 

—  
tsuzuku 

* * *

_Footnote: Natsume (and his trusty companion K-kun, who was apparently purchased for 500 yen) appears in Matsushita's sketchbook. I took a guess and translated her _"maboroshi no kyara" _as "phantom character," although I really don't know what she was trying to say. In any case, he never actually gets any panel time, hence a lot of guesswork on my part. So that's where he comes from. Again, continued props to Murakami's _Hard-Boiled Wonderland. 


	13. Fiery Beast

Providence once again found the three in the basement of the Castle of Candles running for their afterlives. Luckily, zombies are not incredibly fast, and they hoped that at a sustained jog even Tsuzuki could manage they might be able to make it through this complex of tunnels seemingly made by giants to the sixth level with nothing more than the loud gurgling sound lapping at their heels, or at least to some place safe. 

They stopped at one point to take a breath. 

"Where the hell are they coming from?" Terazuma said. "The way this place is built, it sounds like they could be all around us." 

"I'll check the motion detecting radar," said Wakaba, taking out the GPS. 

The other two stared over her shoulder. "That thing has a motion detector?" 

"How come that works just fine?" 

They watched as the tiny red blips on the screen came closer, a great mass of red following behind at the borders of the radar. "One hundred meters and closing," Wakaba said. "Eighty." 

Terazuma peered into the dark with his hand raised as though shielding his eyes from it. "Do you see anything?" Tsuzuki asked. 

"Sixty meters . . . fifty meters . . ." 

"Nothing!" Terazuma said. 

"They're right on top of us!" Wakaba said suddenly. 

"What?" Tsuzuki started. "That's impossible! What happened to the other fifty meters?" 

"Heads up!" said Terazuma suddenly and aimed his shot up, just as one of the zombies came flying through the air toward them, its distended arms reaching. It was stopped mid-scream as its head was blown to pieces. Then Tsuzuki grabbed an enthralled Wakaba by the arm and took off again down the corridor, Terazuma reloading as he backpedaled after them. 

As they ran, the hallway opened up to a cathedral-like chamber of gigantic columns that seemed to extend beyond their sight in every direction, including up. They cut this way and that between the columns, trying to shake their pursuers, all the while hoping an exit lay somewhere on the other side. The call for brains was not lessening behind them. 

Suddenly, the path was blocked before them. Zombies that had been alerted ahead of their position filled the corridor in an almost smugly calm manner in the dim, knowing they had cornered the warm-bodied shinigami. The three retreated, thinking they would try to find a way around the blockage, but were inevitably cut off. With nowhere else to go, the shinigami found themselves crowding into one of the crossroads, unaware that they were treading on a large carved diadem bearing strange symbols. The zombies completely occupied their attentions. 

"They've got us completely surrounded. . . . Again," Tsuzuki said, brandishing the rusty but useable sword he had nearly tripped over a while back. "Any suggestions?" 

"I don't know," said Terazuma. "I'm fresh out of ideas." 

Wakaba pressed her hands to her temples, now officially panicking. "This is it!" she said. "We're never getting out of here! Game over, man!" 

"Pull yourself together, woman!" said Terazuma, taking her in both hands and shaking her by her shoulders. "Remember you're a shinigami!" 

"Hajime," she said staring, still being shaken, "you're touching me and Kuro-chan isn't coming out!" 

"You're right! What the hell is going on?" 

"Maybe we should try harder!" Wakaba tried, and proceeded to press herself against her partner in ways that were not entirely innocent. "Good plan," Terazuma agreed, grabbing her rear with both hands. 

"I realize you two may never get another chance to do this," Tsuzuki yelled back at them, "but would you mind waiting until a time we don't have ten thousand bloodthirsty zombies trying to tear us apart!" 

"He's right," said Terazuma, holding Wakaba to his chest dramatically like he was the hero of some post-war monster movie. "It's the final countdown. They may tear us down, but we'll go down fighting. Nothing's gonna stop us—" 

"As long as you've got my back, I feel I can take anything they throw at me," said Wakaba, pulling out her MAC-10s. 

"Just aim for the head, partner." 

The three prepared themselves for the flood, weapons out and poised for gratuitous displays of carnage. The zombies dragged slowly nearer and closed them in, baring menacing grins at the promise of tasty flesh. 

Then, quite abruptly, they stopped. One by one the corpses' growls died down and they stopped in their tracks. If it were even possible, their decaying faces seemed to look around with worry. As one, they suddenly turned around and retreated, even faster than they had come, screaming as they went. Some of them shimmied like spiders up the columns out of sight. 

"They're retreating?" said Wakaba, staring incredulously after them. 

"Just when we were getting started," said Terazuma. 

"I don't like the looks of this," Tsuzuki said in an ominous stage whisper. "They dug too deep. Drums . . . drums in the abyss!" 

As though on cue, the ground shook and a different roar could be heard over the terrified monkey-like screech of the fleeing zombies. Seeing it as their chance, the shinigami took off for what they thought was the exit again. But as they neared, they saw the portal illuminated with a fiery glow. They slid to a halt. 

A great creature maneuvered its bulk through the doorway, roaring and shaking its head — which sported two very large and wicked tusks — back and forth as it did so. It was massive, like two bull African elephants taped together to make one giant bull elephant with six legs. Its muscles rippled with each step under the immense strain of moving its awesome bulk. Its flat nostrils flared with anger at being awoken from its slumber of ages, its tongue testing the air for the scent of the perpetrators. These details were a little hazy, however, seeing as its entire body was engulfed in flame, from its massive feet to its narrow eyes. 

The shinigami gaped. This particular night, rather than quit while it had a good thing going, had decided for consistency's sake to once again go from bad to hopeless doom. 

"You've gotta be freaking kidding me!" said Terazuma, one step away from tearing out his hair. 

"You don't think there's a chance it's here to help?" Wakaba tried feebly. 

In response, the beast caught them in its sights, opened its bony maw, and sent a blast of furnace-hot breath in their direction. Wakaba had a defense shield up in an instant to deflect it around them; but the gauntlet had been thrown, and there were no two ways about the fiery beast's intent. "I'd take that as a no," said Terazuma. 

The beast made its way toward them, gnashing its jaws and swinging its tusks and belching fire, which the three dodged and deflected, counterattacking with charms and shotgun slugs that had about as much effect on its advance as flies on a charging rhinoceros. 

"We're just spinning our wheels here! We have to beat this thing somehow," Wakaba yelled after narrowly dodging a flaming tusk, "before we're all burnt to a crisp!" 

"How much you wanna bet it's another one of Hakushaku's little guard dogs," Tsuzuki said between shield charms, which crisped between his fingers with each direct hit. "The corruption must have hypersensitized it or something. If we can just get around . . ." 

"I don't care what it is," Terazuma growled. "In case you haven't noticed, it thinks _we're_ the bad guys — like everything else in this damn castle." 

"I'm with him on this one, Tsuzuki," said Wakaba. "Better it than us." 

A plan was rapidly forming itself in Tsuzuki's head. "Just follow my lead," he said as he reached for a handful of fuda from his inside breast pocket and concentrated on his target. "How about a little fire retardant, scarecrow?" he said as he let fly a rapid volley. The paper slips burst into a sticky gray foam when they hit the beast's front left leg square on. 

The fire went out of the appendage with a hiss and a cloud of black smoke; and the fiery beast let out a rumbling, low-frequency whimper of disbelief as it reluctantly toppled over the cooled and hardened leg. 

"Right, I can take it from here," Wakaba said, her confidence returning, as she leaped into the air and raised the halberd now glowing with a spell materialized by a pentagram to plunge it into the beast's thick skull. "_Men!_" she yelled, as though it were a simple kendo match. 

For a moment it seemed like she had connected. 

Then, finding some great reserve of strength, the beast roared its rage to the vaulted ceiling and reared high up into the air, picking its two front legs — which could now be seen to wield deadly scythe-like claws — off the ground, and finding it an opportune moment to unfurl its mighty wingspan. The halberd was reduced to vapors in Wakaba's hands as a new surge of white fire followed suit. Startled, she was nearly thrown wide by the beast, but managed to leap clear and join the others, falling to one knee out of breath, her school uniform skirt singed. "Okay, now it's mad," she said. 

"Things just keep getting better," said Terazuma sardonically. "Quick, change me into Kokushungei!" 

"I can't! We've already established he won't respond to my advances!" 

"I know, but seeing as we're screwed, can't you just hold me anyway?" 

"Leave this one to me." Tsuzuki pushed up his sleeve like a character in an action anime. "It's time to fight fire with fire!" 

Terazuma turned to him like he was daft. "Are you sure that's really a good idea?" 

"You got any better ones? Besides." He smiled devilishly. "It's always worked for me before." 

The other two exchanged glances and shrugged. Together they raised a barrier while Tsuzuki did his thing. 

He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, concentrating on the interweb of time-space as he began to chant in a low voice: "Roaring red flame who rules destruction and rebirth, piercing the heavens on wings of devastation, reveal thyself before me—" 

His eyes snapped open. "_Suzaku!_" 

The swirl of fire that usually surrounded him failed to appear and what little wind resistance he had managed to conjure dissipated. No great fiery phoenix. No nothing. 

Tsuzuki stood still in disbelief. 

Terazuma shook himself out of a stare. "What just happened?" 

"I don't know. I've never had any problems like that before." Tsuzuki tried snapping his fingers. "Come forth, Suzaku!" 

Nothing. 

"Thy master humbly entreats thee. Please," he tried with a whine. "This is no time to bear a grudge. Breath of solar wind, yadda yadda — _appear before me, Byakko!_ Come on, don't fail me now, you son of a—" 

Meanwhile, he didn't see the beast advancing toward him, nursing the one foreleg he had incapacitated for the moment and raising the other to strike him down in revenge. Lucky for him, his two coworkers were able to pull him out of the way in time to miss everything but the stifling breeze cast by the descending arm. The beast roared again at being foiled and set off after them in its grotesque insectoid sprint through the tight forest of pillars as the three once again ran for their lives. 

"I don't get it," Tsuzuki was saying. "Why won't they answer my call? Unless this is a situation for one earthenware pot—" 

"That won't work either," Wakaba told him. "It's the same thing with Kuro-chan; he won't come out no matter how much I touch Hajime. Somehow, the connection with Gensoukai has been severed on this level." 

"But that's impossible!" said Terazuma. 

"Yet somehow it is happening." 

"I don't believe this. . . . You mean we're all on our own with this one?" 

Confirming his worst fears, the beast suddenly appeared through the corridor beside them, nearly broadsiding them with another eardrum-shattering scream. 

It looked like this would surely be the end, when suddenly the monster recoiled as it was splashed in the face with water thrown from no one knew where. Squinting its eyes in pain, the beast tried with its forefeet to wipe the water from its face, but the liquid, like an acid, continued to hiss as it corroded a way through the stony outer layers of flesh. 

While it was distracted, a dark but distinctly human figure inserted itself between the trio and the beast. "Shinigami," it said derisively, the voice androgynous, "don't you know you're out of your league?" The person seemed as ominous as the monster, dressed all in black vestments that fluttered in the hot wind and backlit by the blaze, but by the way he faced the beast it seemed he wasn't there to stop the shinigami. At least, not for the moment. 

He unsheathed a sword that shone like a star in the bright light, meeting the beast head-on with the confidence of a lion tamer as it sought to eliminate the new threat. "Yes, that's a good boy . . . I'm the one you want," the newcomer said steadily as the beast, as though bewitched, kept its hungry eyes trained on him and turned its attention from the shinigami. 

Then it struck, its jaws snapping loudly shut like the jaws of a steel trap as it tried to bite the newcomer. The newcomer, however, nimbly dodged it — once, then twice — then swung his sword. Rearing up to avoid the blade, the beast swatted at its attacker in a manner that, from the perspective of the other three, resembled a cat playing with its prey. 

"Now's our chance," Terazuma yelled to the others. "If we hurry, maybe we can reach Fluffy without any more distractions." 

"But we can't just leave that guy to fend for himself," said Wakaba, looking torn herself. 

Of course, Kannuki was right, he thought; though if they stayed, it might turn into a slaughter. _Their_ slaughter. "Damn it . . ." Terazuma growled. He sent a fuda flying like an arrow straight to its mark, and just in time, as it deflected the wing that nearly crushed their heretofore rescuer. 

Tsuzuki dashed forward to a better striking distance, put his hands together and uttered a binding spell. A translucent white light enveloped the beast, whose surprise was mirrored on the newcomer's fire-lit face. The beast's instinct was to fight it with all its strength, and it took immense focus on the part of Tsuzuki to maintain the field of resistance. 

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the newcomer gathered his resolve and raised the sword again. "Lord, give me strength," he muttered into the base of the blade, "to defeat the armies of darkness that corrupt these halls . . . through your angel Michael, help me to seal up the door to whatever hell they have opened, and restore the order of the righteous. The power of Christ . . ." 

The handguard spread open and the blade elongated with a mechanical _shing_, transforming into an upside-down cross. 

"The power of Christ . . ." 

The beast's eyes narrowed as it turned to face the newcomer defiantly. 

"_The power of Christ compels you!_" 

With those words, and blade gleaming in the fiery glow, the newcomer flew over the beast's head and brought the pommel of his sword down hard on the juncture at the back of its skull. A long, tense moment passed, and the shinigami held their breaths. Then the beast went ragdoll, collapsing chin first on the stone floor. The fire that had raged along its tough skin dimmed to a ripple of embers but did not go out. 

Satisfied, the newcomer pushed a lock of long hair out of his eyes and sheathed his sword, whistling at the gargantuan body that now lay almost motionless before them but for a slow inflation and deflation of the stomach. 

"Well, that thing won't be bothering us for a while," the newcomer said. "I'd reckon it should be chasing rabbits for a good four or five hours at least. We'll be far away from here by then." 

"What are you, Luke Skywalker?" said Terazuma. "You are not going to tell me it was that easy." 

Their savior shrugged, and turned to them so that they were able to see him in a better light. 

Or rather, to see her, for the face and figure were clearly those of a young woman — a fair-complexioned and mysterious gothic beauty — though her curves were dampened by the cut of the long, solid black, priest's vestments, and her light hair was cut short like a boy's in the back. "Hello again, Tsuzuki-san," she said in a dangerously smooth voice, "Enma-cho's super-elite." 

Tsuzuki waved back feebly. "It's been a while. Not long enough, actually . . ." 

"You know this guy?" said an incredulous Terazuma, not without some displeasure at having to be rescued. 

"We sorta worked together on a case. . . ." 

"I can understand _your_ presence here," the young woman continued, ignoring him, "but what were they thinking sending the _Summons_ Division to fix Hakushaku's mess? Really, you people have no idea what you're up against." 

Terazuma went red. "_Excuse me?_ Look, we didn't ask for your help, and we were doing just fine up until a few minutes ago, so why don't you get lost and let us struggling salarymen do our job, huh?" 

"Um . . ." Wakaba began uneasily. 

The young woman turned to glare at him. "Is this how you thank the person who's just saved your ass?" 

"Hey, it was mutual, pal! But fine, whatever," Terazuma grumbled. "My ass thanks you." 

The other frowned. "Considering the circumstances, I'll let your rudeness slide this time; but you'll be wise to watch your tongue in the future. Allow me to introduce myself," she said with a flip of the hair. "My name is Tsukiori Kira, exorcist extraordinaire — dispatcher of ghosts, demons, and all manner of undead, at your service. My card. . . ." 

—  
hasta luego 


	14. Scavenging, Negativism, Maraschino

" . . . When I saw your picture again on the security tape, I remembered the floor you had been going to when we shared that elevator," Hisoka said, carefully leaving out the part about how sure he had been the man was responsible for Watari's death; "and . . . Well, the rest you know." 

His companion, Natsume, nodded with a quiet hum, digesting the information Hisoka had just given him as they walked through old hallways below the building complex. From Watari's strange behavior and the discovery of his body and office in disarray, to Muraki's strange appearance and 003's brilliant work on the security system — he took it all in and turned it over in his mind without surprise or judgment. "That certainly is a curious story," he said at last. 

"To say the least," Hisoka muttered under his breath. 

Bells jingling as he trotted along beside them, K looked up as though waiting for the humans to come to some decision. 

"I'm particularly interested in these anomalies you told me about." 

"You'll have to ask Zero-zero-three about them. I can't tell you much more than I already did." 

"Well, whatever they are, from what I could gather they do kind of fit in with my idea of some sort of universal tuning fork. How else can you explain regular mortal people mysteriously arriving in Meifu, not of their own will, and bypassing procedure?" 

"I don't know if I'd put Muraki in the same category as regular people. But even so, you say frequencies are to blame, she says dark matter—" 

That got a reaction out of Natsume. He paused in mid-stride. "_Dark matter_, you say?" 

"Yeah. Why?" 

"Well, my friend, that's a horse of a different color." 

"And you think that's any better an explanation?" Hisoka said, looking sideways at him as they continued on. "At this point, dark matter is entirely hypothetical." 

"So are a lot of things in this world. But when the usual suspects have been eliminated, you can't help but think there might be forces out there human beings as of yet don't understand, right? That doesn't mean they don't really exist. I wouldn't put it past man to have it in him to apply mathematical formulas to everything," Natsume said wistfully; "it's just a matter of time. And I certainly wouldn't put anything past Watari." 

Maybe he was right, Hisoka conceded in his mind; yet he couldn't help feeling the unwelcome sense of responsibility of someone who had innocently conspired in weaving a great cosmic farce, only to be told it was all true and had been going on for millennia. 

"Up this way," Natsume said, interrupting him from his thoughts, and Hisoka followed him and K up an open-rise staircase from the 1960s. 

They emerged on the bottom floor of a large and open room that resembled a modern library without the books. Instead there were worktables and cabinets and clean-up stations in scattered archipelagos, and volcanic islands of large machines the purposes of which Hisoka could not even guess as they were all covered with translucent plastic sheets. The outside wall was all glass windows, stretching up the two oversized stories to the distant ceiling. In the daytime, it would have lit the place up with vibrant, natural light. At night, however, the dim orange glow of the moon cast suspicious shadows, and the covered instruments looked like ghosts of Showa's industrial prowess, or scavenging creatures of the Cambrian deep sea. 

"What is this place?" said Hisoka. 

"The engineering lab," Natsume said beside him. "Hardly anyone comes down here anymore, so you'll have to pardon the dust. As you can see it's seen better days." 

"Is there something we need to get here?" 

"No, this is just a more direct route to the file room is all," said the other indifferently, gesturing for Hisoka to follow him. 

Which he was eager to do and escape the ominous feeling that overcame him in the laboratory. This was where 003 had said the invader was headed, and no doubt where it had leaned on the shields. And he couldn't help wondering why. There didn't seem to be anything here of great importance. At least, not anymore. 

As he walked he thought he saw out of the corner of his eye something massive moving slowly past the tall windows, watching him with great interest, like a child watches a fish in an aquarium. But when he looked, there was nothing there but the hazy shapes of the cherry trees, obscured by the tinted glass. He hurried to catch up. 

They were standing at the door of the file room within minutes, and the Gushoushin seemed resigned to the inevitability of seeing Hisoka instead of the secretary as they ushered him in. 

003 turned in her seat hearing him enter. "Any luck?" she asked him. 

"Good heavens, Miss Sakamoto," Natsume said to himself, "you're beautiful!" 

"Er, yeah," Hisoka said in answer to her question. "I filled Natsume-san in on your predicament down, er, up here, and he's brought some plans that might be of some use. The inventions Watari-san lost in the accident. Natsume-san—" He sighed. "This is Zero-zero-three." 

Shaking himself out of a stare, Natsume took her hand and shook it eagerly. "What a pleasure to finally meet you in, well, the human flesh." 

"The pleasure's all mine," 003 said with a chuckle. "Believe me, it's a pleasure to meet anyone like this." 

The same could not be said for K, who hopped up on a nearby desk and studied 003 carefully. He'd been duped, his expression seemed to say, as he stared at what his olfactories told him should have been an owl a quarter his size. 003 glanced back at him uneasily. 

"So," she said to Natsume, "you've found Watari's old drawings? I thought they'd all been destroyed. May I. . . ?" 

She unrolled them reverentially in her hands while Natsume said, "It seems King Enma was holding onto them for just such an occasion. Either that, or we're lucky his honor's memory isn't what it's cracked up to be. Now, those are the right ones?" 

"Oh yes, these'll do just fine. —Why don't you pull up a chair and we'll see if we can find a use for you. I've just been calculating the size of the invader based on fluctuations in the shield recorded by security. Here, take a look." 

"Jesus, if you're right this thing is huge." 

"Yes. And that's what I don't quite understand. Um, what do you know about quantum theory?" 

They quickly became so absorbed in one another, Hisoka began to think they had forgotten about him. Feeling a sudden urge to leave — and it wasn't as though they had a job for him — he said, "I'm going out for a bit. You guys want me to bring back anything?" He might as well have been talking to himself for the short negative replies they gave him before returning to their conversation. 

Ignoring Gushoushin the younger's request for a snack-pack of Cream Collons, Hisoka left the file room and wandered aimlessly through the building. 

What was he thinking, being jealous of that Natsume guy? Hadn't he already decided 003 only had eyes for Watari? But the fact remained he was jealous. He'd always considered himself fairly well-read, even if he wasn't nearly the pillar of useless information Natsume made himself out to be. That is, on any other night but this, useless information. Yet for the first time in years, he felt a little inadequate as a man. 

"You're being ridiculous," he said, hitting his temple with the heel of his hand as though pounding those words into his brain. "Getting all worked up over an owl." 

Eventually he found himself back at the cafeteria. He changed back into his own clothes — which were dry and no longer smelled like a sewer, but instead reeked strongly again of whiskey thanks to Watari's stain remover. Retrieving a can of coffee from the back room, he sat down at one of the long laminate tables to think, trusting the caffeine the beverage was unreasonably loaded with to turn his mind from such inconsequential things to the situation at hand. 

—

Naturally, at some point, Hisoka fell asleep. It was the kind of sleep that sneaks up on a person so suddenly that he doesn't even realize he's slipped into slumber. Reality and the dream that is woven by the subconscious overlap, their borders difficult to delineate. For all he knows he is still awake but things have changed and events taken a turn for the demented. 

It did seem a little strange to Hisoka to suddenly find himself in a grand and lush European garden in the middle of the day. What was stranger still was that Watari was there in a white tropical suit that looked a size too small for him, a huge red carnation in the breast pocket; and Hisoka was so surprised to see him alive and well he almost called out to him. However 003 was there as well. Not 003 the owl, to be precise, but 003 the girl he had left downstairs, except that she was dressed as the Lady of the Camellias in a white, ruffled dress. 

"Am I dead?" Hisoka thought aloud — a rhetorical question to be sure because, of course, he quite was. But for all he knew this place could have been the Pure Land of Amida Buddha, except that no sutra ever mentioned behavior like this. For just as he was thinking it, Watari hopped around with his arms outstretched and one leg bent. 

"Pioo," he chirped like a songbird. "Pioo. Pioo." 

After a moment, 003 took a step and answered with a tentative, "Cuckoo?" of her own. 

Then Watari flapped his arms and bounced gaily closer, and 003 twirled around him. They took turns whistling and bobbing their heads over one another's shoulder in a see-saw fashion, precisely like a couple of lovebirds. 

Hisoka went red with embarrassment and hoped no one else saw these two grown adults acting like this. Although, he thought after a moment, the mating habits of two scientific minds as obsessive as they were bound to resemble something in a late-night nature documentary. 

Still, spoil-sport that he was, Hisoka found himself saying: "Come off it, Watari-san, you can't marry her!" Where this idea of marriage sprang up he didn't know; it just seemed obvious. 

"But I love her, Bon," Watari said. 

"But she's a bird!" said Hisoka. 

"Of course she's a bird," Watari said, in his jaunty accent. "My little turtle dove, my bird a' paradise. My dreams made flesh or a reasonable facsimile thereof—" 

"No," Hisoka insisted, "a _real_ bird! As in, an owl!" He found himself flapping his own arms to illustrate. 

To his surprise Watari just gave a great big laugh. "Very amusin', Bon, but as you can see, I am happy. I'm the sunshine man, the driver of the gravy train — chu, chu, chu . . . I am impervious t' your negative insinuendo." 

"My what?" 

"Insinuendo," said Natsume, appearing out of thin air beside him on a child's three-wheeler shaped like a unicorn, "is insinuation toward innuendo, brought on by an increased negativism out of a negative reaction to their positivism." 

"Oh my God!" said Hisoka, holding his head. "You've all gone completely bonkers!" 

"Bonkers is a word I reject absolutely," said Watari. "It's negativism. It's a word I put it in my galvanized pressure cooker — _whrooom!_ It's gone—" 

"This isn't happening." 

"Of course not. You're having a nightmare," Natsume told him matter-of-factly, studying him through a periscope while Watari and 003 had taken up a hearty rendition of the toast song from Verdi's _La Traviata_. "But after all, reality is all in the eye of the beholder — and penguins have an organ above their eyes that converts sea water to fresh water. They claim Mount Yoshino in bloom is covered in snow, and not breakers of waves frolicking with whales and seals, and little fish with parasites that change their sex. Seals get old and crack and leak oil, but the maiden doesn't notice 'til the empty tank is like the Kingdom of Heaven, and Saint Peter needs a cat's paw to break him out of Palatine's sewers. If a cat falls in a box and there's no one around to see it, does it make a sound? Oh hail, Fugen Bosatsu! divine whore of infinitesimal possibility and wisdom, perception incarnate!" 

He clasped his hands in prayer, and looked over the rim of his glasses; and the sun dimmed to light only his face, which expanded to impossible size in Hisoka's mind like the head of Memnon. "The point is, Bon, Schroedinger's radioactive isotope was just a ruse, a red herring, a maraschino cherry on top of a cosmic sundae. Space and time exist only within the walls of my own brain!" 

—

With those last words ringing in his head, like a tap on the skull by Saint Michael, Hisoka started. He raised his head from the table as reality in all its inevitability returned to him in particles and waves. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep. He glanced at the clock on the wall, but that only told him it was past three in the morning. 

And what did that mean, anyway? "Space and time exist only within the walls of my brain"? 

It didn't make any sense, but at the same time it did. As though he had met Watari in the void of the unconscious, and come down with a spot of his madness. For a single moment he was convinced that simple declaration was the answer to everything — the amalgamation of all this night's empty theorizing. He promptly rejected it as preposterous. Those two in the file room had given his imagination such a workout tonight he was ready to believe almost any damnfool idea set before him. And at the thought of them, feeling he had been away too long, he set off once again for said file room. 

When he reached it, however, he found a Post-it note taped to the door informing him they had left and he should come to the conference room. Did that mean 003 had put the final pieces of the puzzle together? Or had something more sinister happened while he was away? 

He raced down the hall back to the conference room as fast as his feet would carry him and threw open the door. "What's happened, Ze—" he began to say. 

Then he came to a complete standstill. 

Natsume and Tatsumi, the latter of whom trailed off at the interruption, turned to look in his direction. But it was the figure sitting at the end of the table that had startled Hisoka. 

Genial as always and seeming in better health than ever, Watari raised a hand in greeting and winked. "Yo, Bon!" 

—  
_continued on page 16_

* * *

_Major props to Peter Barnes' _The Ruling Class _for the dream sequence, and Peter O'Toole whose JC is a deadringer for Watari, aside from the facial hair._


	15. B6

"An exorcist?" Terazuma said as he looked at the business card in Wakaba's hand. 

"Card-carrying, no less," she said. "You have to be certified to be an exorcist now?" 

"Well, you can't just have anyone going around waving a crucifix about, can you?" said Kira as though they should have known better. "It's a dangerous business for any mortal, not to mention the consequences for the rest of the universe could be devastating if you didn't know exactly what you were doing." 

"That doesn't explain why you're here, though," Tsuzuki said. "I might be mistaken, but I didn't think these things," he indicated the smoldering beast, "were your forte." 

"Window dressing, Tsuzuki-san. I'm after the same thing you three are, right? The demon they call Fluffy." 

"But we were assigned to that job," said Tsuzuki with a bit of the irritation at being dragged out in the first place on the one night he felt ill resurfacing. "It seems awfully pointless for Hakushaku to call us all the way out here if he already had someone working the case." 

"Hakushaku? Ah." She snapped her fingers. "That clears things up for me, all right." 

The other two in their party were starting to look impatient. "And how is that?" 

"I'm not working for Hakushaku. I haven't even spoken with him. It was King Enma who sent me. I owed him a favor for all the second chances, so . . ." 

Wakaba was surprised. "King Enma? What does he have to do with this? We were told this was a minor demon." 

"Yes, well, I'm not surprised," Kira sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Leave it to Hakushaku to make it sound like Fluffy was his esteemed dinner guest or something who got lost on the way to the toilet. I'll explain everything. But not here: the walls have ears. And eyes, and everything in between. Come. I know somewhere safe." 

With that she led the way down the gigantic corridors, Tsuzuki keeping pace beside her and the other two following close behind. 

"How've you been doing since we last met, Tsuzuki-san?" Kira said by way of obligatory conversation. "Lord Ashtaroth hasn't been harassing you about joining his dragon cavalry, has he? I asked him to lay off for a while." 

"I haven't heard a word. Actually, we were pretty busy with this occult creep from Hisoka's past for a while; and then Hisoka went and unleashed Kurikara from his prison in Gensoukai, and that shook things up something awful — thought we were going to have some major dimensional paradox on our hands — but it all worked out in the end. Of course, then we had to tie up some loose ends regarding his family curse, which none of us had had _any_ idea about beforehand, so that was a pain in the ass — no pun intended—" 

"Yeah," Kira edged in, "I don't really care." 

Tsuzuki's shoulders slumped. 

"Speaking of Kurosaki, you two see any progress yet?" she asked to the ceiling to make herself look indifferent. 

Tsuzuki started. "W-what do you mean, progress?" 

"Oh, come on, Tsuzuki-san," Wakaba piped up from behind. "Don't make us go through this again." 

"Go through what?" 

"Your chemistry." 

Terazuma laughed, causing his partner to glare at him. "You two keep on dreaming," he said with a smile. "I don't doubt Tsuzuki's got a weak spot for high school boys, but Kurosaki's an okay kid. Straight as an arrow." 

Tsuzuki couldn't help but go for the gibe. "You say that as though you have personal experience. Did you get dumped, Hajime-chan?" 

The other's smile dropped instantly. "Come again?" 

"Ah, cheer up, Terazuma, there are other fish in the sea." 

That tore it. The two stopped on a landing and confronted one another. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Tsuzuki? You just had to go there. Fine. You want me to say it, I'll say it! Yes, I like Kurosaki better than you. There, you happy? Because _he_ actually _uses_ that thing on his shoulders, unlike some jackasses I know around here!" 

"Wow, I didn't know you had such self-loathing. Is this something new, speaking of yourself in the third-person?" 

"That's it. Screw seniority, your ass is grass, Tsuzuki." And with that he grabbed Tsuzuki in a headlock. 

"I'm an invalid, you git!" Tsuzuki retorted, elbowing him in the gut. "I'll puke on you!" 

"Are they always like this?" Kira asked Wakaba under her breath as they edged past the two men. 

"Like you wouldn't believe." 

Kira rolled her eyes. "Men can be so infantile." 

"Tell me about it. I swear, it feels like I'm babysitting half the time." 

They were just heading up a second flight of stairs when Wakaba happened to glance down at the GPS again, only to see it was working for the first time since they had entered the bottom of the basement. That news brought an end to petty squables. 

"That makes sense," said Terazuma. "I can feel that damn parasite pacing around again." He rubbed his temple. "I could really use a cigarette. . . ." 

Tsuzuki glanced at his cell phone. "Huh. Mail from Tatsumi. . . ." 

"Then that means we've reached basement level six," Kira said as he checked it. "We should have a brief respite from—" 

She never got to finish as just then she tripped on one of the stairs. It was not a bad fall, but Terazuma was there to catch her anyway, one hand gripping her arm and the other snaking around her waist. Wakaba halted in her tracks and Tsuzuki looked up from the cellphone, both holding their breaths for the inevitable. 

But it never came. Terazuma did not transform. Instead he said, "Watch your step, kid," and released her and walked on ahead indifferently. 

Not knowing what to expect, and refusing to acknowledge the favor, Kira cleared her throat and followed. But if either of them had looked back they would have caught the unmistakable look of jealousy on Wakaba's face. She huffed past Tsuzuki, any sense of newly gained kinship with the other woman clearly gone as they pushed onward. 

—

After all that had happened tonight, there was little more in the Castle of Candles that could surprise the three shinigami. But B6 sure came close. It was as though they had wandered onto the set of some theme park's animatronic boat ride. All around them in the dark alleyways lit with the eerie glow of thousands of red paper lanterns were storefronts ripped from a bygone era. Noodleshops and tailors and fishmongers, old signs with exotic names, everything on a quaint, slightly smaller than life-size scale, the illusion ruined only by the overwhelming stench of chemicals and algae. 

Well, that and the characters who inhabited this floor. The streets were teeming with little amphibious men — and women and children — going about their various businesses with hunched gaits and balding pates. 

"Kappa," Terazuma breathed around his cigarette, hardly able to believe his eyes. 

"The place is swarming with them," said Wakaba. 

"I should think so," said Kira, not missing a beat. "This is where they live. The theory is, if they have a place to call their own, they'll be less likely to wander around where they don't belong. King Enma's—" 

"Got a fondness for them. Yeah, we heard already," said Terazuma, wrinkling his nose. He added as an aside to Wakaba, "Makes sense to keep them here, anyway. Bet for all his all-mightiness he's not so fond of that smell." 

Meanwhile Kira led them to a street vendor, said something to the kappa in the chef's hat behind the bar, and sat down on the bench in front of it. "You'll need to replenish some of your bodies' sugar for the next part of the operation," she explained to the shinigami. "Fluffy's known as a trickster and master of delusions, so your brain needs as much glucose as it can get to be in top working order when we confront him." 

"I don't know if I'd really trust any of the food here — er, no offense," Wakaba said, glancing warily at the chef. 

That made Tsuzuki look green. "I still don't feel so well." 

"I know what you mean," Kira said, "but you can at least be sure the sake and the cucumbers are safe." She indicated the plate the chef put before them. "Kappa maki. From the horse's mouth." 

Feeling even more uncomfortable thanks to her choice of trope, Terazuma and Wakaba tentatively took their cucumber rolls in hand. 

The chef, seeing a momentary lapse in work, folded his leathery arms in front of him and leaned over the bar. "You are shinigami, here for the demon?" he asked them in a thick, lispy accent. 

"That's right," said Wakaba. 

The kappa humphed in satisfaction. "It is about time you showed up. We can no longer leave the level because of those undead things he brings here. They give our children nightmares, threatening to eat their brains." The irony of his words seemed to be lost on him. 

"There are beings here from all corners of the basement," an attractive woman with long, trailing hair said as she leaned her head toward Tsuzuki. 

He turned to look at her and nearly fell off his seat. The woman was actually sitting at the end of the bar, and a long, serpentine neck joined her head to her body. She was not alone; a couple other rokurokkubi nodded sinuously beside her, and now that he was looking for them, he noticed other species of apparition sitting under the awning of a restaurant, and walking the street in small groups. 

"We came here to escape the disturbances," said the rokurokkubi, "but there were many who could not make it—" 

"Minds addled by the airwaves!" said one of her companions. "Fortunately for us it is a physical impossibility for them to penetrate bee-six." 

"Yes, how fortunate," said the other two, nodding again. 

That explained at least some of the behavior the shinigami had encountered that night, they must have thought as they exchanged glances. "What, exactly, is Fluffy doing?" Wakaba asked them. 

"Trying to break through the firewall." 

"Yes, but, I mean, what is this disturbance you mentioned?" 

"You experienced it too, didn't you?" said the first rokurokkubi. "The fluctuations in space? Beings randomly appearing and disappearing?" 

"It isn't just within the Castle, either," Tsuzuki spoke up, gesturing to his cellphone. "According to Tatsumi, these fluctuations are occurring all over Juuohcho." 

"This is bad," Kira muttered under her breath. 

"What does that mean?" said Wakaba, at once anxiously and somewhat eagerly. "Does he have gatekeeper-type abilities?" 

"That's what we have to find out. Okay, we know he's trying to break through the firewall; that's a given; but _how,_ he's doing it doesn't fit his usual modus operandi. _Why_, on the other hand—" 

Kira shot the rokurokkubi over Tsuzuki's shoulder a cold glare; and with a shrug of her shoulders the woman reluctantly retracted her head. 

"Here's the low-down. Hakushaku was holding Fluffy in the Castle pending trial when Fluffy made his escape. He was suppose to appear before King Enma as a material witness in a case involving a batch of cursed bootleg video games. The items in question were under Enmacho's watch after incidents reported on the continent, but somehow someone managed to sneak one in under the radar, sold it to some high school kids, and a string of mysterious deaths ensued." 

"And they fingered Fluffy in their judgments," Terazuma guessed. 

"Yes, but he claims to have gotten the game from someone else. A colleague of sorts. Enma — God bless him — has half a mind to believe he's telling the truth, in which case it's imperative he get to the source of the operation. Anyway, apparently Hakushaku then expressed some intellectual interest in Fluffy and asked Enma's permission to house him until the appropriate time. . . ." 

"Of course," said Tsuzuki. "How better to improve your repertoire than learn from the master of illusion himself." 

"And we all know what became of that." 

"Which explains why we wouldn't get the whole story out of Hakushaku," Terazuma said. "And why we got called in to take care of his mess. It would look pretty bad if he let Enma down after pulling a favor like that." 

"But by your presence here," said Wakaba, "it seems Enma already has found out." 

"That's obvious, isn't it?" said Kira. "But it's essential that the whole matter be kept as discrete as possible, before it becomes something more than just an embarrassment and compromise the investigation. Which is where I come in. While you three are at some advantage already being dead and all, I have leverage as an exorcist, and one in the confidence of Lord Ashtaroth at that." 

"Why does that name sound familiar?" Terazuma asked. 

"He's the prince of hell Tsuzuki is sort of an estranged brigade commander under now," his partner reminded him. 

Terazuma spun to face Kira. "What's all this 'power of Christ' crap, then? You mean to tell me after all that you work for the Devil?" 

"Not _the_ Devil. _A_ devil," she corrected him. "It's not like I sold my soul or anything. He gives the orders, I deal out punishment to those who go against them. Besides, someone in my position can't really be picky about finding work. The Catholic church isn't exactly an equal opportunity employer, you know." 

"Hear hear," said Wakaba. 

"So, you're a mercenary!" said Terazuma, waving the remainder of his cucumber roll uncouthly in Kira's direction. 

She shrugged. "If you want to put it that way." 

"I don't know. This smells fishier by the minute, and I'm not talking about this level." 

"Look, I don't particularly care what you think of me. But if we pool our strengths together on this, it should come off without a hitch." With great difficulty that showed on her face, Kira extended her hand to Terazuma. "What do you say, Terazuma-san? Are you willing to put aside our differences if I am?" 

"What the hell," he said glumly, taking her hand but avoiding eye contact. 

That got a small smile out of Kira, but a look of even greater displeasure from Wakaba. Of course, Tsuzuki didn't want to say it aloud, but it was obvious to him how similar the two were in personality: their stubborn manners and difficulty asking for help. No wonder it seemed to take both of them an awkward amount of effort to shake hands rather than butt heads. 

"If you three are ready," Kira said, rising, "I think we should be heading up." 

"Be careful," the first rokurokkubi spoke up as she sipped her wine. "This Castle is no place for a mortal." 

Kira turned warily. "Who says I'm mortal?" 

The apparition smiled a creepy smile. "Deary, I could sense the warm blood running through your veins from a hundred meters off," she purred. Taking a small object out of her kimono sleeve, she tossed it in Kira's direction. "In case you run up against a wall." 

"Thanks," Kira said, glancing uneasily at it, ". . . I think." 

"No need," said rokurokkubi so nonchalant. "And, deary, loosen up a little, will you? You only live once, you know." 

Kira went red at that; but the other three had no time to ponder the meaning of the exchange as she grumbled impatiently, "Come on, come on; we haven't got all night," and walked away with a sudden purpose to put as much distance between herself and the street vendor's clientele as possible. They got up slowly, stretching their exhausted limbs and preparing themselves to once again step into the unknown. 

—  
_tbc_


	16. Reboot, Paperspace, Engineering

"Ah, Kurosaki-kun, good of you to join us," Tatsumi said. 

Natsume just smiled at him silently. 

Hisoka couldn't say anything in reply. He couldn't move. All he could do was stand there under the scrutiny of that trinity of bespectacled visages and wonder, what the hell had just happened? 

"What's the matter, Bon?" Watari said. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." He snickered to himself. 

Somehow Hisoka found his voice. "What the . . . Watari-san? But . . . I thought you were dead!" 

"I was!" the other said with way too much exuberance. "For a little while. Too long, apparently, for some people 'round here." He glanced sheepishly at Tatsumi. "I guess I could have picked a better night. . . ." 

Hisoka put his hands down flat on the table and leaned over it. 

"Who did it?" 

Watari blinked. "What d'you mean, Bon?" 

"It's been driving him nuts all night," Natsume offered with a smugness that bothered Hisoka. "He's spent all this time trying to figure out the identity of your killer." 

"O-o-oh. You were goin' t' avenge me, Bon? Well, that's sweet of you." 

"So? You gonna tell him or not?" 

"Well, I thought it was obvious," Watari mumbled, getting a shrug from Tatsumi. He turned to Hisoka. "It was me all along." 

Hisoka just stared at him. He thought he must have misheard the eccentric scientist, who for the last few hours had been in his mind a hapless victim of the combined forces of depressing music and some unknown villainy. It was impossible. No one would so gleefully confess what he seemed to be confessing. 

"I offed myself," Watari clarified in any case. 

"_What?_" 

"Yeah, I know, it's probably not what you were expectin' from me of all people—" 

"You committed suicide?" Hisoka all but yelled. 

"That's a rather clinical way of putting it," said Watari, wiggling his finger in his ear, "but yes." 

Hisoka sat himself down in an empty chair heavily, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of exhaustion. "I don't understand! Why would you do something like that?" 

"Maybe the pendin' total lunar eclipse had somethin' t' do with it, or lis'nin' t' those old enka records again," Watari said with a far-off look. "Due t' my change of plans, I was unable t' witness the big moment; but there was somethin' about the anticipation of it that inspired the romantic in me. I was workin' on some old calculations and gettin' a mean headache for my troubles, when suddenly I was overcome with a sense of nostalg'a that hit me from outta the blue, and brought its pal melancholy along in the sidecar." 

For a moment, listening to him, Hisoka thought he could feel a residual bit of that familiar emotion himself, just as he had in Watari's office, and was almost taken in by sympathy. He'd never trusted the moon or that music. 

Then Watari smiled at him as though it had all been a joke, and Hisoka felt like a fool for buying it. 

"Mostly, though, it was curiosity. I hadn't died in a while, and it seems t' be a popular way for people t' off themselves, OD-in' on painkillers, so I thought I'd give it a go." 

"'Give it a go'? That's your reason?" 

"It wasn't that bad, actually. You don't feel much — well, that stands t' reason, doesn't it?" 

Hisoka groaned in exasperation. Could he be any farther from getting the point? It just wasn't right for someone to be treating his own death so lightly. 

"I blame myself for this misunderstanding," Tatsumi said to him. "I thought you knew when we found the empty bottle of aspirin in his office." 

"What empty bottle?" 

Well, that explained something, thought Hisoka sardonically as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

Tatsumi sighed and turned to Watari. "How many did you take, anyway?" 

Watari shrugged. "I dunno. Two dozen . . . maybe as many as thirty. Whatever was left; I didn't count." 

"Thirty!" 

"Yes," he said with a tone of triumph in his voice. "I wanted t' make sure I went through with it all the way. Don't need t' be waking up halfway through, feeling sick to my stomach; that'd take all the fun out of it. But I metabolized those little buggers pretty quick, wouldn't you say? 

"And now I return t' you," he went on melodramatically, "in the final hour, resurrected—" 

"You tell it!" said Natsume. 

"Renewed—" 

"Hallelujah!" 

"Rebooted. For though my body lay dead, my mind was sealed for freshness, merely waitin' for the right key t' unlock the mysteries that remained buried in its recesses, hidden from even me, its material keeper." 

Natsume applauded. 

"And now?" Hisoka said, unimpressed, in the awkward silence that followed. 

"Now?" Watari blinked, fixing his eyes on Hisoka's passionately. "Now, you say, my Doubting Thomas? Why, now I have the answer, the missin' piece I've been lookin' for for two decades! I ain't kiddin' when I tell you death was like a hard restart for my brain. It had become cluttered and chaotic in the meantime, and a total shutdown was just what the doctor ordered t' flush out the excess. T' get the synapses really flowin' again." 

That was apparent by looking at him, Hisoka thought. Whether his mind had really been refreshed or not was not up to him to say, but he looked brighter — not just his character, but physically brighter in color and hue, from the slight flush in his face to the golden shine in his eyes and long, wavy hair. Maybe resurrection was not too extreme a word to describe it, though Hisoka would never admit it aloud. 

"Of course," Watari added, "I may never rememeber all the crucial mathematical stuff, so these extensive notes were a big help too." 

Saying that, he patted a thick stack of printer and legal pad paper that sat conspicuously in the center of the table, and Hisoka could see they were the same papers 003 had been writing on while he cooked up various things to whet her insatiable appetite in the cafeteria kitchen. 

"I still can't imagine who else would have known so much t' be able t' compile them, though. They woulda practically had t' steal some a this stuff right from my brain. Natsume, you really have no idea?" 

Natsume shrugged. "Like I said, they were lying next to the computers in the file room." 

"So there was no killer all along. . . . Then," Hisoka said, just remembering, "what happened to Muraki?" 

"Just as he said," answered Tatsumi, who, at a second glance, did appear a mite more ruffled than usual; "his appearance here was a complete accident. In his words, if you play with dark magic long enough you are bound to get burned by it sooner or later." 

"And you believe him?" 

"I did not at first, but he disappeared the same way, down one of those ubiquitous wormholes — though not before I could give him a good thrashing." 

Hisoka raised his eyebrows. "Thanks, Tatsumi-san." 

"Don't thank me." The secretary's mood suddenly turned dark. "I feel as though I have failed you and Tsuzuki by letting him escape. But rest assured, someday, I will have my opportunity for revenge. And when it comes, I shall enjoy it immensely." 

A sinister smirk appeared on his normally unflappable face, and the fluorescent lights made his glasses glimmer dangerously. Hisoka scooted his chair a little ways away. "Th-that's good," he said; I guess. What in the world had happened out there after he left? 

"Yeah," Watari rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I should apologize for that." 

"Why? You were probably already dead when that guy showed up—" 

"Wait, let him finish." Tatsumi held out a hand to shush him. It wasn't often he heard an admission of guilt from the man, and Watari knew it. 

"Gee, thanks, Tatsumi," he said sarcastically. "Naw, I mean the 'lectrical disturbances that've been poppin' up t'night. Ya see, it was my invention that caused all them wormhole things t' appear. Of course, I had no idea this would happen since I lost the blasted machine twenty-two years ago; but I guess I shoulda known that there was always the possibility it would one day return all on its lonesome. After all, I programmed it t' do just that." 

—

"Where to begin? It was early July nineteen-eighty, the fifty-fifth year of Showa. An English band called Japan was on the radio, we were between PMs following the untimely death of Ohira Masayoshi, and we'd just learned that Darth Vader was Luke's father. It was an uncertain and excitin' time t' be alive, if you'll pardon the expression. I myself had just completed construction of a machine over which I was particularly excited that I dubbed the TVC-one-five after the song by the _other_ Thin White Duke, and was ready t' put it through its first test run. 

"The design I based roughly on a Moog synth. At the time it was gainin' a lot a underground notoriety from artists like Tomita Isao, but the use of it, sadly, remained limited t' makin' music. I had the idea of usin' the patch system oscillator not t' create new sounds but t' tune int' the frequencies of the universe. New advances had been made in the field of quantum physics; and even though most a the stuff comin' out in the media was just theory, I couldn't resist the pull it had on my imagination. 

"We were in a sorta technological limbo then: the period of high economic growth in the 'fifties and 'sixties had petered off, but the future couldn'ta looked brighter what with the advent of personal computers and robotic engineering. The possibilities seemed truly endless. I myself had realized the marriage of the two just a year before in a small robot equipped with an artificial intelligence capable of processin' his environment like nothin' that came before him." 

"That must be the ECRU-seventy-nine-exothree Natsume-san told me about," Hisoka said. 

Watari looked up at the ceiling as he recited, "The Environmental Computation and Recognition Unit. But I never called him by that dehumanizin' name. T' me he was always Spock-kun." 

Hisoka started. So _that_ was Spock-kun! The thing that had so occupied Watari's thoughts before his death and his lost invention were one and the same! "So, it wasn't a character in a TV show." 

"No, he was that too." 

"Where do you think Watari gets the names for any of his inventions?" Natsume said. 

"I just never imagined how appropriate it would turn out t' be — that in a little under a year's time he too would be lost somewhere in the unknown vastness of time and space. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself. 

"So, with that triumph of engineerin' securely under my belt, I turned my sights to the question of the nature of the universe. Was it, like so many began t' believe, like a layered cake with untold numbers of other universes we, who lived in one layer, could not measure or comprehend? Or did we have our fingers 'n' toes in some a those other layers simultaneously and just never realized it? If it is true that possibility exists in a continuous, analog wave form, can we not devise a way t' read it? Can we not find some way t' observe the proverbial cat in all its states of being within its little box? 

"Of course, all these questions seemed t' have only one solution: that we must open ourselves t' the mathematical truths that exist all around us and realize our brains' full potential, after which the rest will seem a walk in the park t' us newborn übermensches. But that seemed a little too simplistic and Buddhist t' appease my restless scientific mind. So I took the route I'm most familiar with: I set t' creatin' a machine t' do it for me: the TVC-one-five. 

"Now, my scope wasn't so broad as all that, mind you. This wasn't some quest t' prove the existence of God through scientific method, or anything like that. I had a particular goal in mind buildin' that machine. Since my arrival in Meifu, I discovered an uncanny ability t' create material objects from a two-dimensional object drawn on paper. These objects are just hollow parodies of the real things, of course, no real substance t' them, but they're good in a pinch. And I began t' wonder if, if it was possible t' pull things _out_ of a two-dimensional plane, was it also possible t' put things back _in_? Of course, a sheet of paper is in fact a three-dimensional object, and furthermore material, so rearrangin' it molecularly doesn't necessarily violate the First Rule of Matter; it's the two-dimensional essence of it, however, that leads me t' refer t' the phenomenon as paperspace. 

"Consider, for a moment, the limitless potential. Landfills are runnin' outta places t' put all of civilization's junk and hazardous waste. Or better yet, say you get an apartment, but it has hardly enough closet space and no place t' park your car. What do you do? except sell your car, perhaps, and that's rather unpleasant, 'cause you'll never get back what you paid for it. 

"But what would you say if I told you you could store it in . . ." He picked a piece of paper off of the table and held it up sideways for them to see. "An infinite space that, t' your limited human perception, is no thicker than this piece of paper?" 

"I'd say that was impossible," Hisoka said. That and that he was absolutely off his rocker. 

"Undoubtedly." Watari pointed his index finger. "For in actuality, your stuff would not even exist on the same plane as your apartment, but on a separate, parallel plane, addin' absolutely nothin' t' your atomic clutter. Whether it's been proven or not, we here tend t' believe that worlds like Meifu and Chijoh, Gensoukai and Hell, etcetera, are somethin' like parallel dimensions. Ev'ry now 'n' then they overlap one another in time or space, and bein's from one take a different state of existence in another, but generally they remain separate realities. In the livin' world, this may explain the seemin'ly random disappearance and reappearance of matter from the realm of perception." 

"But we're talking subatomic particles, right? Not whole people." 

"Correct. In order t' transport an entire body from universe t' universe you need t' open a large enough portal. That was the purpose of the TVC-one-five. By arrangin' the oscillator's patch cords in a specific fashion you create a unique sound wave, rearrange them and you get another. Find the right frequencies and broadcast them int' the ether and in no time you've dialed up your friend with the styrofoam cup at the other end of the universe, or maybe in another one all together." He folded the piece of paper he had been holding in half. "Presto-change-o, the space and time between the two points of connection boil down t' a superflat two-dimensional plane. Paperspace." 

And to punctuate his point, he jabbed a pencil straight through the two planes of the folded paper, joining them together at the center. 

Needless to say, at this point Hisoka was all but entirely lost, and felt like he would hurt himself if he tried to wrap his mind around what Watari was saying any harder. It wasn't the logic that confused him so much as the practicality of applying such logic. He had to remind himself that the spells he was so familiar with defied scientific method themselves. 

"So," Watari continued, "with the TVC-one-five set up on the lawn, the total lunar eclipse high in the summer sky, and the portal now gapin' hungrily open before me, I sent Spock-kun off int' the unknown, knowin' his metal body made him less susceptible t' extreme environments than my fleshy one, and knowin' no one better equipped t' record whatever there was t' record on the other side. I proceeded with care, ready t' reel him back in should the experiment get outta hand. When suddenly the gauges went wild, patch cords snappin' outta their jacks. I tried t' stabilize the portal but it resisted my vain attempts. Spock-kun's tether went taut and snapped, there was a strong gust a wind swirlin' on-and-off hot and cold and a blindin' flash of light. And then I lost consciousness. 

"When I woke they told me my invention had imploded. There was no physical trace of the TVC-one-five t' be found, whether material or trapped between my synapses. As for Spock-kun: unable t' retrieve him, I mourned his loss as a failure and vowed never t' pursue any serious pursuit in the engineerin' lab again. 

"So now you know the whole story. . . . At least, up until tonight." 

"And it never occurred to you," Hisoka said, "that Spock-kun, or any of that junk you were hypothesizing about earlier, could wind up in someone's backyard?" 

Watari blinked innocently. "At the time, no. We thought the collective universe was generally empty. We certainly never thought it was so full. No one had really broached the subject of dark matter yet." 

There the topic went again. Dark matter. But it no longer seemed like some eerie coincidence. No, Hisoka thought, one way or another, this dark matter thing is at the heart of tonight's events. 

As though to confirm his fears, Watari said, "Now I see it as the grossest miscalculation I ever made. How could anyone have missed — how could _I_ have missed the universe expanding at an exponential rate? Spock-kun was the size of a shiba dog when I lost him. . . ." 

Tatsumi and Natsume nodded in grave thought. 

"I don't understand," said Hisoka, looking between the three. "What does Spock-kun have to do with expanding universes?" 

Watari raised his eyebrows. "Well, considering his mass has increased some hundred-fold, I'd say everything." 

"Then . . . the thing that was lying on the shield, you're saying it's that little robot?" 

As Watari nodded, Tatsumi said, holding out a hand, "I know it's difficult to believe, but we have hard evidence that suggests the ECRU-seventy-nine-exothree and the invader are in fact one in the same." 

"Hard evidence . . ." 

"_Hai!_" said a new, high-pitched voice from behind him. Now, leaning forward, Hisoka noticed for the first time the little girl sitting on the other side of the secretary, legs dangling off the seat, an uncomfortable-looking K held snug by one arm and the other raised enthusiastically. He recognized Kazusa, the girl who saw demons, immediately. 

"Kazusa got notification of a monster in the area," she said, kicking her Mary Janes in slightly incongruous cuteness, "so she got her digital camera and followed it here through the cherry trees." 

"I thought I felt like I was being watched," Hisoka said. "And you can tell it's Spock-kun from the pictures?" 

"I'd recognize his face anywhere," Watari said as he leafed through a handful of printouts. "And — here—" He pulled one out and passed it across the table. "You can clearly see the name tag I gave him in this shot, still intact after all these years." 

Hisoka looked closely. Sure enough, there on the pockmarked metal skin was a tag from an old label maker, that said simply in white-on-black Roman lettering: SPOCK. It was just as good as any patent number, maybe even better where one of Watari's creations — which never did get patents — was concerned. And the quality of the image was remarkably clear, especially for such a tricky shot, leaving no room for doubt about the machine's supposed identity. 

"How did you shoot these?" he asked Kazusa, glancing at the others Watari passed him. "You must have had to get pretty close to that monster." 

The little girl beamed. "He wasn't that scary. Besides, Kazusa's been practicing with zoom and exposure." 

"You still refer t' yourself in the third-person," Watari said, "and yet you take professional-quality photos. What are you, four?" 

She giggled. "I'm ten and a half, silly Yu-chan!" 

Watari looked as though he would fall out of his chair when he started. "Y . . . _Yu-chan_?" he exclaimed, turning pink. Tatsumi chuckled. "Tatsumi, don't encourage her." 

"I don't know," said the secretary. "I think it's rather fitting. Don't you, Natsume-san?" 

Watari turned an even deeper shade at that. Not that anyone could have confused him with the literary Yu-chan, Mishima Yukio's young hero of the gay underworld, but Kazusa's innocent allusion brought some lightheartedness to the table that was much needed on such a night. Even Watari couldn't keep the bashful smile off his face as he pushed back his chair and rose as if to take a bow. 

"Okay, okay," he said, "laugh it up, you two, but I didn't return from the dead t' be a target for you guys' ribald senses of humor." 

"You're leaving?" Hisoka asked, standing automatically himself. 

"Now that we're all here," Watari told him, once again down to business, the slight already shrugged off, "and you've all been filled in on what I do know, I thought we'd move out. Time's a'wastin', and I need t' pick up a few things for this little operation in my office." 

"We were discussing our strategy before you came, Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said. "I'll fill you in on the way." 

—

With that the two left the room, Watari talking Tatsumi's ear off in the process, Kazusa and a struggling K in her grip following close behind. Natsume stopped Hisoka with a stage whisper of his name and a pinch of his jacket before he could move to join them. "Got a moment?" 

Something in his smile made Hisoka dread what he had to say as he turned. "What is it?" 

"Someone left this for you," Natsume said and handed Hisoka a piece of legal pad paper folded into fourths. 

He guessed what it was and where it came from before he even opened it. He had been so surprised to see Watari again that for a while he had forgotten the missing member of their party. Now he feared the note would confirm what he already guessed to be the case. The aura of regret around it was almost palpable. "Zero-zero-three?" 

"Who else?" 

He unfolded the paper and read the note written hurriedly on it to himself. 

"Dear Hisoka," it read, "I feel I don't have much time left in this form so I am writing this to you while I still can. I want you to know how glad I am that it was you who came for me on the bridge. The time I shared with you and Natsume as fellow homo sapiens was short and chaotic, but I will always remember it as one of the happiest times of my life. You are a rare kind of person, with such a generous spirit, even if you don't want others to know it. And you cook up a mean omelette. Don't ever forget that. Thank you for everything you've done for me, from the bottom of my heart. 

"I only ask one more thing. Please remember your promise to me and never tell Watari about my part in any of this. Love, you know who." 

So 003 had reverted to her normal self. Other than that, Hisoka didn't know what to think as he skimmed the letter again. It resonated with such sincerity — love; she'd actually signed it with love — and simplicity that it was difficult to believe the person who wrote it had come and gone from his life so quickly. No, that wasn't precisely true, he reminded himself; she was still here, somewhere, and always had been as an owl. It was just immensely difficult to reconcile the two as one and the same. 

"She also left this," Natsume said, holding out Wakaba's suit folded and stacked, with pumps lying on top, into a neat pile. "What do you want to do with it?" 

"Just leave it here for now." Hisoka couldn't think of anything else to do at the moment. Once again he chided himself for the irrationality of his feelings, especially in light of what awaited them outside the walls of the complex, but it really did feel as though he'd lost a dear friend. In comparison to this, Watari's death earlier — it now seemed like eons ago — had felt a mere bother. "Natsume-san, you . . . you saw it happen?" 

"Yeah." The young man's smile seemed sad to him now. The experience must not have been very pleasant. "Probably a good thing you weren't there." 

"Probably," Hisoka agreed. 

—

"So as you can see," Tatsumi was explaining to him while Watari worked the key pad on his office door, "we're in a bit of a bind not knowing exactly what we're up against. But Watari-san has the idea — and I agree it may be our best option at the given time — to use your _reibaku_ spell to separate the core of the ECRU unit from the dark matter or whatever it may be that it has absorbed over the years. Before that, we will be instructing Security to corral the machine in the northwestern courtyard within the complex once Watari-san has lured it into place, theoretically with no danger to the surrounding buildings." At this point the secretary rolled his eyes. "He seems convinced he can _talk the thing down_, if you believe it." 

"Knowing Watari-san, I can," Hisoka said. "I'm just not sure the _reibaku_ will work. I've never tried it on a machine before—" 

"I know it's asking you to do a lot, but will you give it a try?" 

Hisoka wasn't sure if that was a sideways comment meant for Watari, whose invention had gotten them into the mess in the first place, but he said, pretending he hadn't noticed, "Why not?" 

"And once he's subdued, the only question then," said Watari, "is what to do about the TVC-one-five." 

The light blinked green on the key pad and he pushed open the door, inviting them into his office, which was no less a mess of files and blueprints and crumpled looseleaf than it had been earlier in the evening, disorganized to all but Watari who seemed to know just where to find everything. Wasting no time, he began to pull out empty file boxes, lining them up on one work table and immediately moving on to the next item on his mental list — wrenching open cabinets and digging under mountains of papers, unplugging things from the wall and placing them indiscriminately one atop the other inside the boxes. 

"We know it still exists and is in operatin' condition somewhere," he continued as he did this, "and that someone or something is using it t' punch holes in the paperspace around Juuohcho. We can surmise that the other party doesn't really know what they're doin' because so far the holes don't seem t' have any pattern or purpose t' them that we can see. Or else there's a bug in the machine, which could be the only thing standin' between Juuohcho and complete destruction. 

"Which leaves us with two options the way I see it," he said as he pulled out a bullhorn — what use it was going to have against a giant inflated robot, Hisoka had no idea — which he waved about to illustrate. "One: if we could reach the TVC-one-five and destroy it, that should stop any more wormholes from appearin', and the rest should collapse by themselves. Two: if there's no way t' get t' the TVC-one-five and destroy it, we're gonna have t' close the gate permanently ourselves." 

He tested the bullhorn once, making the rest of them groan and cover their ears from the shrill blast, then threw it into a box with its compatriots. 

"But doesn't that suggest we need the aid of a gatekeeper?" Hisoka said. 

"That would stand t' reason, yes." 

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, our resident gatekeeper is somewhere in Hakushaku's castle as we speak!" 

Watari stopped his searching for a moment to ponder his words. "Huh. I didn't think of that." 

"If you download me a tutorial on gate-sealing," Natsume offered, "I could probably work from that." 

"Kurosaki-kun's right," said Tatsumi. "A tutorial isn't the same and you two know it. Kannuki's the only one among us who has been extensively trained in gate technique." 

"But, Tatsumi," Watari said with a shrug, "we don't _know_ that we'll actually need her." 

"Just the same, I'm calling her back." Pulling out his cellphone, he moved away from the rest to place a call. 

As though just remembering, Watari suddenly looked around himself in an almost frantic manner. "Where's Zero-zero-three?" he said. "Have you guys seen her?" 

Hisoka wasn't sure how to answer. Yeah, she turned human and patched up the security system while you were dead? Not only was there something terribly callous about saying such a thing, truth though it was, 003 might never forgive him for it. Once again he was overcome with sympathy for the two: for 003 who was prevented by her own body from expressing her feelings, and for Watari who would never know them. Just as he was trying to find the right words to explain diplomatically, he caught a glimpse of something brown and fuzzy on top of the locker in the corner. 003's whole body was scrunched together as though from cold, and Hisoka wondered at the kind of shock that must come from transmutation. In a remarkably controlled human gesture, she looked Hisoka in the eye and slowly shook her head back and forth. 

"Sorry, Watari," Natsume said. "I'm sure she'll turn up sooner or later. She always does, right?" 

"That she does," Watari said with a fond smile. "With all the commotion t'night she's probably restin' somewhere." 

You have no idea, Hisoka thought. 

K, looking over Kazusa's shoulder, happened to catch a glimpse of 003 and managed to wiggle out of the girl's arms. "Hey, K-kun," she giggled, but the cat's attention remained riveted on the little owl. 003 started and moved farther back on the locker's top out of sight, and K looked as though he was gearing up to give pursuit. But he sat down on his haunches instead, his wide eyes perhaps suggesting he was thinking to himself: I knew it was the owl all along! 

"Bon? Somethin' wrong?" 

Then Hisoka realized he was staring. "Nothing. Sorry, Watari-san," he reassured the other man, and turned his eyes away from the locker. 

"Good," Watari said, pushing one of the boxes into Hisoka's arms. "Then if we can just move all this stuff t' the engineerin' lab . . . I've got a surprise for the little guy he isn't gonna like." 

Between whatever that was and the _reibaku_ spell they'd be lucky if anything, machine or not, cooperated, Hisoka thought as he hoisted the box into a better position. Natsume grabbed another, while Watari gathered up his laptop and bundles of wires and cords and stuffed them haphazardly under one arm. 

"Then the only thing that remains is t' find him." 

"I don't think you'll have to go any farther than the lab," Hisoka said. 

Tatsumi and Watari turned to him, the latter looking at him like he was brilliant. "What makes you say that?" said the secretary. 

"I had this strange feeling as I was walking through there earlier." Even just thinking about it again gave Hisoka the shivers. "As though whatever was on the other side of the windows was looking for something or someone in particular, and it was studying me, trying to fit me in." He closed his eyes and tried to relive what he had experienced in that brief time. "There might have been a feeling like, I don't know, like when a kid gets lost in a department store . . . homesickness is the only way I can think to describe it." 

"Of course!" Watari hit the heel of his free hand against his temple. "Spock-kun's memory bank would tell him t' return t' the engineerin' lab. It's where he was born! I don't know how or why now, but that of all the things t' happen so far is the one that makes the most sense." 

And still balancing all his stuff with one arm, he pointed the other out the door. "To the lab!" 

—  
_to be continue. ._


	17. The Firewall

For perhaps the first time that night, the three shinigami knew without any shred of doubt they were on the right track, and their mission objective close at hand. When their party reached the fifth floor of the basement of the Castle of Candles, they found themselves at a set of heavy, metal sliding doors that towered above their heads, just as those that had prevented their progress on their journey by elevator. 

The difference now was that these doors had been pried wide open. The handprint recognition console to the side hung askew and sparking from some manner of forced entry. "Fluffy's been here, all right," Kira said, and no one complained of the obviousness of her statement. 

The doors opened onto a high-ceilinged hallway, with monochrome crystalline walls into which vertical banners of geometric, organic designs had been carved. Lights mounted in the vault shinedne down pale light in cold icicles that pierced the almost physical darkness; and fluorescent rods ran from wall to wall beneath the transparent flooring, bathing their faces in eerie uplighting, measuring their progress as though in musical bars. Their footsteps falling on the hard floor were the only sounds in the large chamber, and even then made hardly an echo, the sound swallowed up by the room almost as soon as it was produced. 

When they came to the next set of doors, massive bronze ones on hinges, they were not surprised to see them flung open as well. Thick discs of jade green clay the size of tires lay broken and shattered all around it. "This door was sealed. . . ." Kira said to herself, examining the remainders of one. 

"Hakushaku warned us about this," Wakaba said as she surveyed the scene. "You would think such an important area of the Castle of Candles would be much better protected than this, though." 

"This is a high-level safety seal spell. Even you and I would have a difficult time breaking it without the proper counter-spell, if we managed to dent it at all." 

"Impossible." It was Terazuma who spoke up. "Why would a minor demon — master of delusion or not — have the resources to break it and not us?" 

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Kira said. She regarded them meaningfully. "We have to be prepared for the possibility Fluffy had help." 

"You mean like those fluctuations they were talking about in the kappa village," said Wakaba. 

The exorcist nodded. "More or less. According to the security footage they started appearing about the same time Fluffy staged his big escape. Coincidence? I don't think so. If he has some alien force at his disposal, we could be in more trouble than we both bargained for." 

Tsuzuki felt something float over his shoulder. He turned around and looked up, and caught a glimpse of a mechanical eye drifting through the air, blinking a steady red light. "Then maybe this isn't the right time to tell you," he said slowly, "but we're being watched." 

Just as he said so, he saw another come into view, drawn to the newcomers like sharks to blood. The other three looked up, Kira furrowing her brows. 

"Security cameras?" Wakaba said, trying to be optimistic. 

"Sentinels, more like," said Terazuma. "The question is, whose side are they on?" 

Whatever the answer was, Kira tightened her fists in anxiety. "Fluffy's going to know we're coming. Come on! We must find the firewall!" 

With that she took off down the corridor, the shinigami close on her heels. The walls around them were imposing like the unadorned walls of a ziggurat, constructed on such an awesome, monstrous scale with the purpose, perhaps, to evoke just that feeling. The path seemed to be curving in a gentle spiral, and the occasional flying camera was drawn to their presence, but they paid no attention as time was of the essence. Like the line in front of an amusement park attraction, they had the irritating feeling they could not have gone far despite the distance they had traveled. 

At last a low roaring like the sound of waves crashing to shore made them slow their pace. When they turned the final corner and came face to face with the source of the noise, the shinigami stopped and stared. 

"I take it that's the firewall," said Terazuma. 

And sure enough, extending in either direction before them was a wall of flame, a solid row of pillars of golden-green fire rising and hissing continuously en masse from the floor toward the ceiling. There was no apparent way over or around it, and the cigarette held close to the wall for a light proved it was no mere illusion. The heat incinerated it, much to Terazuma's disappointment. 

"Then if we follow it we should find Fluffy!" his partner said. 

Suddenly it felt like they were missing a member of their party. Tsuzuki looked around and counted two besides himself. "Where's Tsukiori?" 

"Sneaky bastard bailed on us!" Terazuma hissed. 

They had no time to ponder her disappearance, however, as just then a low rumbling split the steady roar of the flames, rattling them where they stood, a low staccato like a giant's peals of laughter. It congealed into a sinister voice, the words reverberating in the thick air of the chamber: "_So. These are the shinigami they sent to capture_ me?" 

The flames surged and smoked black in one spot along the wall, and the three stepped back as something began to take shape there. A shadowy figure shaped like a seed and easily two stories tall developed, then unfurled two leathery wings. As it stretched and accumulated mass, they could make out a thick, chiseled body with hairy haunches and abnormally long forelegs ending in a raptor's talons. An elongated head sat on a serpentine neck, out of which the horizontal pupils of goat eyes focused on them, and smoke emanated from the toothy, plesiosauric jaws. Two twisted horns like twin towers rose parallel from the back of the skull. 

The thing almost seemed to smile as it looked down at them the way a man looks at an insect. "_Fools_," it said. "_You would have done better to stay in bed then try my patience on this night of the eclipse._" 

"We meet at last . . . Fluffy," Tsuzuki growled, staring him down. 

And what a misnomer it was. 

The demon let out a snort of disgust. "_That is the name my _peers _call me — wankers, the lot! But among mortals I am known as the Ninki-Nanka — the dreaded deinocheirus — the Kikiyaon proper of the upper Gambia, devourer of souls — Baphomet! Fall down and prostrate yourselves properly before my awesome presence and perhaps I shall take pity on your immortal souls._" 

"On the contrary," Terazuma yelled back, the old platitudes from his days on the force resurfacing, "if anyone's gonna be crying uncle, it's you. The gig is up, Fluffy. You've had your fun, now you're coming with us. We won't fall for your parlor tricks. Don't make this any harder for yourself." 

"_So that's how you want to play, is it?_" The demon inhaled deeply and rose on his hindquarters. The backlight from the firewall created a sickly halo around him. He reached out his clawed hands to form the shape of a bowl, and as the three watched the space inside began to quiver violently. "_Then let's see how you fare against the vengeful spirits your kind laid low. 'That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die'. . . ._" 

And as he said so, a gang of zombies materialized between his hands. 

The shinigami, needless to say, were by now ready and experienced; and bringing their respective blades and firearms to bear made quick work of the zombies. 

"You'll have to do a lot better than that, Fluffy," Tsuzuki said, a lopsided grin on his lips, "if you're going to defeat the man who took down two of Ashtaroth's finest." 

The demon started. "_Tsuzuki Asato? It can't be!_" But even that reaction did not last long, and another puff of black smoke curled out of the sides of his mouth as he narrowed his eyes. "_No matter_," he growled. "_I have plenty more tricks up my sleeves._" 

Terazuma shook his fist. "Bring it on!" 

"_With pleasure._" Fluffy opened his jaws and flapped his wings, blowing a blast of supercharged particles their way. The shinigami raised their arms to shield their faces from the sting, but none of them need say even the manticores had had fouler breath than this. 

"Wait a second, you guys," Wakaba said over the din of it, grabbing Tsuzuki's jacket. "It's a fake!" 

"What?" 

"It's not the real Fluffy. It's just a holographic illusion!" 

"What makes you say that?" her partner asked. The hot wind pushing them back and rattling their hastily raised shields was real enough. 

"His wings are clipping through the firewall!" Wakaba said, as though it were perfectly obvious. 

"So what?" 

"Sew buttons! That wall is impenetrable, right? So why would he be able to move in and out of it at will unless he's already broken through — and in which case there wouldn't _be_ a firewall anymore and we wouldn't still be here?" 

Sure enough, when the two men looked closely they noticed that parts of the demon's body seemed to vanish inconsistently through the wall. She was right. The illusion was shattered. "Plus, this isn't anything your average poltergeist couldn't pull off—" 

They leaped out of the way and a volley of concentrated energy hurled right at them, as though specifically in answer to her challenge, left a shallow, smoking crater in the floor where they had just been. Illusion or not, it still packed a punch. And Fluffy cackled on in glee. 

—

A hundred yards away, the real Fluffy was not feeling so confident. Those shinigami were showing no signs of being scared off, and the donut hole he had managed to produce so far in the firewall was not getting any larger. He would have to focus his energy if it were to open at any faster a rate, and he needed that strength and concentration to maintain his shadow and keep the enemy at bay. It was some catch-22 he was in. If worse came to it, he supposed he could always pull his disappearing act— 

"What a sad piece of work," came a cold voice at his back, sending a shiver down it and interrupting his thoughts. "You've had all night to crack this thing and this is all the farther you've gotten?" 

Fluffy steamed. It was one thing to have let a human mortal sneak up on him, but that was thin ice on which to tread. 

He turned and glared daggers up at the young woman in clerical collar who stood there. "Kira! What are you doing here?" 

"You stole the words right from my mouth. Hopefully that's all you've stolen so far. Isn't it past your bedtime, Fluffy?" 

Fluffy snarled. He detested being talked down to more than anything, and being Lord Ashtaroth's personal attack dog she must have known precisely what buttons to push. 

He laughed, however, when she reached for a pistol. "Feh. What are you going to do? The damage is done." 

"By order of King Enma, I hereby place you under arrest. If you attempt to resist capture I will not hesitate—" 

"What, you're going to shoot me? You know firearms are useless against me!" 

As though taking that as an invitation, Kira pulled out a clear plastic watergun and pulled the trigger. A stream of water arched out with a hiss and hit Fluffy square on the side of the head. The ruckus he raised was horrible. 

"Ah! It burns-ssssshhh! Get it off, get it off!" He flailed his little arms manically. 

The stream ran out and Kira paused a moment, like she had all the time in the world to stand there and torment him. "Had enough?" 

"Screw you! I didn't do anything to deserve— Ah-hssss! . . ." 

He scampered off this time she shot at him, the back of his head sizzling as he hobbled away as fast as his stubby legs would carry him — which just happened to be in a beeline toward the shinigami who were jogging in the opposite direction. He ran right smack into Terazuma's shins. 

"Hello, what's this?" the man said, picking the biting and twisting demon up by the scruff of his neck. He did a double-take, then looked at Kira. "Tell me this isn't who I think it is." 

"It is," she said. 

"Fluffy," Terazuma purred, glowering down at the demon in triumph. "What an appropriate name." 

For the demon hanging in his grasp was essentially no more than an animated stuffed animal, a juvenile Krampus by the looks of him: a ten-pound ball of lavender fur from the bottom of which protruded two cloven feet and a short tasseled tail, and from the top two stubby, harmless knobs for horns. His face had none of the length or scaliness of his more menacing manifestation, and in fact lacked any menacing qualities, except perhaps for the snarl of his lips and the futile hatred in his black button eyes. 

"Not much to look at, is he?" Tsuzuki poked him in the ribs, and Fluffy nearly took off the offending finger. 

"We heard the commotion," Wakaba said, managing to tear her eyes away from the little beast. "It sounded like a dying goat." 

"Holy water," Kira said. She raised the water gun up to the light and checked its contents before holstering it. "It works especially well against the lower echelons whose MO won't mature for thousands of years." 

"'Lower ech—' I don't have to take this—" Fluffy began to kick. 

"You keep a good grip on him, Terazuma-san. He's a slippery one." 

As she said so, she fished out a pet collar from some pocket in her tunic. On it was a little brass box that rattled with the movement. Fluffy's eyes went wide when he saw it. 

"A relic now? What is it, the phalange of a burnt martyr? Yes, just heap on the abuse, why don't you. —What is this, pick-on-Fluffy day?" the demon whined, twisting back and forth in outrage. "Did someone put a sign on my back or something? As if I didn't get enough of this from the guys back home, I have to take it from you ministry goons too?" 

"You should consider yourself fortunate to get off so easy after what you pulled," Tsuzuki told him. "You have King Enma to thank for that. He wants you unharmed, which is more than what we shinigami usually do." 

Fluffy closed his eyes and scrunched up his face as the inevitable collar closed around his throat. It could not have hurt nearly as much as he wanted them to believe, but he did calm visibly as though from a strong dose of tranquilizer once it was secure. 

Satisfied, Kira put her hands on her hips. "Why don't you tell them what you were planning to do, Fluffy." 

The demon crossed his arms over his chest. He tried his best to thoroughly ignore her, and the fact that he was still in Terazuma's grasp. 

"We know all about you vain attempts to crack the firewall," Tsuzuki told him. "And, was it worth it, for a hole you can barely fit your little finger through? Did you really think you would be able to outwit Enma?" 

"Fools," said Fluffy. "Of course it was worth the pains! Sure, that fairy upstairs probably told you something terrible would happen once I broke through. But do you have any idea what lies on the other side of that firewall?" 

The shinigami exchanged glances. "Why don't you enlighten us, as you seem so eager to do," said Kira. 

Fluffy smirked. "I can't." 

"You have no idea yourself, do you?" 

He renewed his glare at that. "I know it holds treasures beyond your wildest imagination — treasures so powerful they warrant such ridiculous and redundant security measures as this. So I ask you, what could be so powerful, so dangerous that Enma would want to keep a secret?" 

"I don't know." Terazuma shrugged facetiously. "Maybe a supercomputer that houses Enmacho's most classified files?" 

"Heh." Fluffy snickered. "Of course you would say something like that. Your minuscule human mind wouldn't be able to fathom the reality of it." 

"And whatever it is, you were just going to waltz in and steal it," said Kira. 

"Yes! And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling shinigami!" 

"Fluffy is known in the underworld for his kleptomaniacal tendencies," Kira explained to the others. "You hear all about nature spirits having a penchant for petty thievery, irresistible attraction to shiny objects, that sort of thing, but it's rather embarrassing for a demon to be engaging in such degradingly impulsive behavior—" 

"I'm right here," Fluffy interrupted impatiently. "You don't have to talk about me in the third-person." 

Kira leaned over, bringing her face close to his. "Then answer me this, you louse. You weren't given those video games by a colleague. You stole them. Am I right?" 

"Yeah," the demon said reluctantly, trying anxiously to avoid meeting her gaze, "I did, all right. I wanted to maximize my profiteering potential, so I snatched a few while he wasn't looking. Those who are on the bottom rungs of these pyramid schemes never make as much as the people on top. Besides, those spoiled high school kids don't know whether they're shelling out dough for bootlegs or the real thing. . . . But you gotta believe me: I didn't know they were cursed!" 

"Whether that's true remains to be seen. Fingering your supplier is the only way to put this case behind you." 

"Do I have to?" Fluffy sighed. "Man . . . He's gotta be pissed at me as it is. We're not exactly near each other in class, you know. I'll be branded a rat!" 

"That depends on the grace of Lord Enma. Do the right thing and he may just clear your name. Isn't that what you want?" 

Fluffy scowled. "I'm a _demon_, for chrissake. I _hate_ doing the right thing." 

—

"What I'd like to know," said Wakaba, "is how Fluffy opened up the portal that released the zombies into the Castle. Or for that matter, bypassed the security of this level. Given the way he attacked us when we first encountered the firewall, there's no way those doors could have been opened by the same being." 

"What do you mean?" said an indignant Fluffy. "Of course it was done by one and the same being: me! With my decades of experience cracking seals and spells of various natures and degrees, the locked-away recesses of the Castle of Candles were a cinch, whether behind doors material or metaphysical. Once the undead were released, I received no trouble from the residents of the basement. Those who did not run in fear were converted to my side by the darkness that I had unleashed. At last they realized the folly of serving a weak master like Hakushaku." He puffed out his chest and looked at the shinigami through lazy eyes. "I was merely holding out on you. Despite my best efforts, the firewall remained a conundrum to me and I needed all my energy to concentrate on weakening it. If I had thought you three were such a threat, I would have shown you what I was truly made of forthwith." 

"I don't buy that for a second," Kira said, playing the bad cop with vigor. "I know the way you operate, Fluffy, and I know you don't have it in you to pull off something of this magnitude on your own. You must have had help. So, what was it? Was there an accomplice who broke those seals for you?" 

Fluffy recoiled at that, either the implication of his shortcomings or the direction in which she was headed. "I don't use accomplices," he said, watching her carefully. 

"A machine, then? Was it a device that allowed you to escape from your holdings and open the portal? Something that doesn't belong to you?" 

He turned defensive. 

"If I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you!" 

"Besides," said Tsuzuki, "if he had something that valuable, he would have used it against the wall by now." 

Fluffy snickered at him. "Idiot. That's impossible. That wall resists everything I have thrown at it. A device would be no different. I'm telling you, whatever is on the other side of it must exist on a separate plane of warped space o-or something! When the portals started appearing—" 

He clamped his hands over his mouth; but it was too late. He had said too much. 

"Wait a minute," Kira said. "I thought you just said _you_ opened the portals. Now you're implying you didn't?" 

"A-am I?" Fluffy twiddled his thumbs. 

"You know, I think you're right." A touch of sarcasm entered Terazuma's voice as it all started to come together. "It seems I do remember Fluffy telling us he was responsible for the whole mess." 

"I am," came the defiant answer. 

"Then which was it? A glorious rebellion against Enma and the underworld establishment, or a stroke of dumb luck? Because I don't see how it could be both." He shrugged. "Oh well. If you want to take responsibility that bad we'll play along. It's no skin off my nose. I seem to recall a new method of torture His Honor is dying to try out, and this would make you the perfect candidate." 

Fluffy let out a sound between a squeak and a gulp. 

"And," Wakaba was eager to add, "it wouldn't be a complete loss because when you finally did return, it would be with that big bad reputation you've always wanted." 

"All right, all right!" Fluffy said, holding out his hands to shush them. "So I fibbed a little, I admit it. I did use the portals to my advantage once I had gotten free and figured out the pattern they exhibited in their comings and goings. Once I found I had some level of control over them, I pitted them against the doors coming in here; then, when that was successful, against the firewall — and you know how well that worked out. I even brought the zombies through, and I might have sicced a few of the basement's residents on you guys. . . . But anything else that might've happened to you was entirely _not_ my doing. Okay?" 

"I don't know. That sounds a little far-fetched . . ." Tsuzuki started. 

"It's the truth!" He looked up at them with the sad eyes of a kicked puppy. "Promise me you won't tell my peers. I'd like to at least keep my self-respect." 

"So, let me get this straight," Kira said. "It was all a stroke of dumb luck, like Terazuma-san said. Which you thought you'd take advantage of to boost your own ego." 

"Please, Kira," the demon entreated her, "you don't know what it's like, to grow up among littermates with names like Pitch and Miasma. I just wanted a little respect is all. Is that so much to ask? Do you have any idea how hard it is to be taken seriously when you're Fluffy, the _cute_ one?" 

She didn't have to think about that one. 

"No." 

Fluffy let out an exasperated sigh. Jesus, humans could be so stubbornly dense. It was like pulling teeth, getting them to see things his way. 

"I would be willing to forget this whole little episode, however," she added, "if you told us where these portals you spoke of came from so we could seal them once and for all." 

Fluffy slapped his forehead. "Do I need to spell it out for you? _I don't know!_" 

"You expect us to believe they just . . . popped up out of nowhere?" said Wakaba. 

"Yes! Because that's what happened! Wasn't that part obvious?" 

"I never planned for this contingency," Kira said in lower tones, leaning closer to Tsuzuki and Wakaba. 

"Neither did we," said the former. "We'd been under the impression this entire time Fluffy was in some way connected to, if not personally responsible for the corruption of the basement. If we don't even know what caused it . . ." 

"Then how the hell are we supposed to stop it?" Wakaba finished for him. 

"What are you guys talking about?" Fluffy said loudly, twisting anxiously in Terazuma's grip to try to hear better. 

The other three ignored him. "This is quite a wall we've found ourselves up against," Tsuzuki said, putting his hands on his hips. 

"That's it!" said Wakaba. 

The others turned to her. 

"That's what that woman with the long neck said after we had eaten," she explained, looking at Kira. "'In case you run up against a wall.' Then she gave you something." 

Now that she was reminded, Kira slipped her hand into her pocket to find said something. "What makes you think of that now?" Terazuma asked his partner. "I fail to see the relevance." 

"Come on," Wakaba said, indicating the firewall behind them. "What bigger wall to run up against could you ask for than this?" 

Needless to say, the remaining predicament of the mysterious portals that sat before them without any leads was quite an obstacle as well. How the rokurokkubi's gift could be of any help must have been what Kira was wondering as she stared at the small object sitting in her palm. 

It was about the size and shape of a june bug, and seemed to be made of highly polished dark green jade. For all intents and purposes, it looked like something someone might string on a necklace and use as a charm. Of all of them, only Fluffy's face showed a look of comprehension, and he fought Terazuma even more, reaching out his stubby arms in a futile attempt to snatch the object from her hand. 

"What is . . ." Tsuzuki began, leaning over for a better look. 

But before he could finish that thought the object suddenly came to life. From some hidden cranny wings shot out and propelled the thing right out of Kira's hand. Before anyone could raise a hand to stop it, it was rocketing straight for the firewall, buzzing all the way and finally colliding with a gentle poof. 

"Crack-brained wench!" Fluffy yelled, shaking his fist at Kira. "You've let it get away!" 

"'Wench'?" Terazuma repeated. "No, you've got it . . . Wait, hold up. You mean Tsukiori's a _woman_?" And to think he had touched her, twice, and once rather intimately. How could he have been so oblivious? 

"Yeah, what did you think she was, genius? And _you're_ supposed to be the detective. . . ." 

"You mean, you really didn't know?" Wakaba said. She let out a great big sigh of relief, jealousy evaporating, and smiling from ear to ear. "Oh, thank God. That explains _so_ much!" 

Meanwhile, rather than melting away or incinerating like Terazuma's cigarette, the bug was somehow interacting with the firewall, turning in a cog-like fashion in staccato stops and starts. "What's it doing?" Tsuzuki asked as he watched, but none of his compatriots seemed to have an answer, and Fluffy was saying nothing. 

Then the mechanical dance stopped. 

Without any warning, the stretch of firewall before them abruptly extinguished itself, parting around the bug like the waters of the Red Sea. It took them all by such surprise that they jumped back. Down the line on both sides the wall receded and went out like a wave rolling to shore, while below their feet came the rumble of heavy machinery and massive bodies sliding into place. The sudden disappearance of the firewall cast the space into almost complete darkness but for the eerie glow of emergency lights, punctured by the tinny sound of the bug falling to the floor. 

But then with the final locking of all the organs into place, soffit lights flickered to life like stars being born out of the inky blackness, illuminating a complex that was nothing like what the shinigami might have imagined Fluffy's illusive treasure hold to be. 

Immediately before them stood two immense lamassu carved of black granite, the individual feathers of their wings and the curls of their beards and thick muscles of their ox legs gleaming in the flood of light. They flanked a portal surmounted by a lotus and grinning, curvaceous humanoid figures, that evoked a strong feeling of the ancient past for the four humans who gazed up at it. Beyond the doorway they could see the monochromatic gleam of stainless steel, rising from below the floor to someplace beyond their field of vision in gigantic towers and banks. Otherwise, the chamber beyond was empty. 

Once their eyes had adjusted to the light, however, and they could look more closely, they saw the steel walls were divided into a grid, and onto each rectangle there was fixed a plaque. There were no piles of dark, occult artifacts or sinister devices lying about, nor server towers with priceless computer equipment the damaging secrets of which could be divulged. The true nature of Enma's treasure was plain for all to see. 

Fluffy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

—  
_tsuzuku_


	18. Oh so demonic, oh my TVC 15

The engineering lab looked just as it had when Hisoka left it. The mounds of machinery draped in white sheets pervaded the feeling of abandonment that was only somewhat relieved by his company. Though before he had made it seem as though it had been forever and a day since his last visit, Watari immediately made himself at home, going to work setting up or laying out the various things he had brought with him on the work tables and plugging in plugs. 

"Here's what I want us to do," he said in the meantime, with an authority in his voice Hisoka had rarely heard. "Natsume, I want you on my laptop monitorin' progress with Security and report it back t' me. I need t' know immediately if something isn't goin' right. Think you can handle that?" 

"Roger," said Natsume, smiling rakishly and saluting. He sat down in front of the laptop as Watari plugged it in and got right to work. 

"Tatsumi, are the phone lines working yet?" 

"Still nothing but white noise." 

"Then you'll have t' contact Security via the computer. I trust your coordinatin' skills the most, so, Natsume, I'm puttin' you under Tatsumi's command." Natsume nodded in the affirmative, and Watari fixed his gaze with Tatsumi over the rim of his glasses. "I want them t' concentrate their efforts on keepin' Spock-kun in the immediate area of the engineerin' department once I reel him in. On my signal." 

There was a skeptical look on the secretary's features, but if he had doubts he did not express them. He said instead, "And that will be what?" 

"You'll know, you'll know," Watari said, waving over his shoulder, leaving the mass of cords and cables he had just connected for the covered islands on the floor. 

"Bon!" He whipped the plastic sheet off of a couple of machines, and finding the one he wanted turned to look at Hisoka. "You're with me." 

"What do you want me to do?" 

"First, help me out with this thing." 

He indicated the machine he was now leaning against, the plastic cover of which Hisoka pulled the rest of the way off before joining Watari. It looked at first glance like something out of an old _Superman_ or _Astroboy_ cartoon, like a ray gun that some mad scientist might build, with generators and haloed lightning rods surrounding an elongated, adjustable device that resembled a telescope. The hole thing was mounted on rollers, but the sheer weight of it made them almost useless, in Hisoka's opinion, as he attempted to push it where Watari wanted it. 

"I want you as my back-up," Watari told him as they moved the machine closer to the bank of windows, grunting slightly with the effort. "The _reibaku_ spell may be our best bet gettin' Spock-kun back down t' size. Just try not t' hurt him too much. He is my baby, after all. I'm countin' on your abilities." 

"I'll do what I can," Hisoka said, though he couldn't make any promises; "but what about you?" 

"Me?" Watari looked up from the knobs he was adjusting to meet his gaze. "I'll be the bait, of course. If it's me he wants, it's me he'll get." 

Hisoka shook his head. 

"What?" 

"Pardon me, but I don't think we _do_ know what we're up against. You're pretty sure that thing out there is your lost robot, and maybe it is. But even so, you said yourself it's grown while it was stuck in paperspace or whatever you call it. And it's been on a rampage all night. For all we know, that robot of yours could be what's reactivated the TVC-one-five." 

Watari contemplated that. "It certainly is a possibility." 

"And you think it's just going to calm down when it sees you?" 

"Can't be sure until we try. But that's why I have this." And Watari patted the machine beneath them. 

"Which is?" 

"An EMP gun. A rather retro design, terribly outdated I'm afraid, but in those days you worked with what you had, and so we'll do now. With this baby I can channel an electromagnetic pulse wave directly at a target, thereby fryin' any electronics contained therein but sparin' those in the surroundin' area, namely the computer equipment behind us. . . . Eh, theoretically." 

"_Theoretically?_ You mean it's never been tested?" 

Watari shrugged. "An appropriate occasion never really came up. Until now. But you can see why I'd rather use it as a weapon of very last resort. If I use it, I risk losing Spock-kun's original mind — assumin' any of it still exists. 

"Which makes me wonder," he continued, "how we got in this situation to begin with. I don't remember actually doin' anything that could have brought this on. Somewhere along the line, it seems, we went down the rabbit hole and didn't even know it." 

"Great," said Hisoka. "Is it too late to take the blue pill?" 

"The what?" 

"Never mind." At last, a cultural reference he could make, and no one got it. Old farts. 

"I guess we'll know that soon enough," Natsume said, looking up from the computer screen. "Heads up, guys." 

The two gathered around the EMP gun looked up and toward the tall windows that he indicated, and Hisoka felt a sinking feeling come over him as he saw what Natsume wanted them to. Behind the tinted windows a dark shape moved, covering almost the entire three-storey surface and blocking out the light of the moon that attempted to shine through the glass. The muffled sound of servos and pistons and the low rumbling of a heavy weight moving across the grass and concrete of the courtyard filled the engineering lab. As though drawn by an intuition of their attention, the figure slowly turned toward the lab's windows. Red lights shone down on them from a strange Picassoesque face, roving hungrily as they tried to peer through the glass in the dim light. 

Watari grabbed the megaphone he had brought along and raised it before anyone quite knew what he intended or could raise any objection. 

"Spock-kun!" he said excitedly into the mouthpiece. "Spock-kun, is that you? It is I, Watari Yutaka, your maker!" 

Hisoka held his breath. One false move in a situation like this . . . 

"Spock-kun . . . if you can hear me, give me some indication." 

From the other side of the glass came a garbled murmur. Each syllable seemed an immense chore to produce, as the rudimentary consciousness fought the effects of disuse and morphology to produce a recognizable if painstakingly slow: "_Se . . . n . . . se . . . i . . ._" 

Watari's face lit up. "Ha ha! It's him!" he told the others, who were more rattled by the fact he had received any reply at all. "If only these windows were retractable. . . ." he said to himself; and then to the machine, in a calming tone: "Yes, yes, I'm here now, Spock-kun. You're not alone anymore. You've been through a lot, ol' buddy, I know, and I apologize for that. But I want t' help you get back t' normal." He put out one hand in a gesture of compassion, as if the thing outside could see it. "Let me help you." 

There was a tense moment as the lopsided and misshapen eyes of the machine swiveled nervously to find his face. It tried to speak, but the attempted words sounded alien to their ears — the frustrated sounds of an infant lacking the satisfactory vocabulary and motor skill. It did not sit well with Hisoka. It did not sit well at all. But Watari stepped forward, slowly, as toward a frightened animal. 

"Watari-san—" Hisoka hissed, but he was ignored. 

"It's okay," Watari was repeating — as much to the thing he claimed to be Spock-kun as to himself, it seemed. "It's all right. No need t' get upset. Let's just take this one step at a time. . . ." 

"_Sen . . . sei . . ._" came the pained response. 

"Shh, you're okay. . . . I'm going t' step outside now. . . ." 

He made a motion to move toward the emergency exit, but before he could approach it the thing raised a great roar. And this time, there was little to convince Hisoka that it was anything other than a roar of rage. Watari picked up on it as well, his sense of self-preservation kicked in, and he dashed back to the side of the EMP gun. But not quite fast enough. Shadowy appendages rose in the night air, only to descend with crushing force on the wall of glass. 

So much for the tearful reunion. 

"Watari-san!" Tatsumi yelled in the din of shattering window panes. Though the encounter with Muraki must have exhausted him, he managed to summon the shadows from the dark corners of the engineering lab with instinctual rapidity and sent them to intercept the falling glass. They covered Watari, who crouched against the gun for cover, like an umbrella, repelling debris all around him. 

A machine a stone's throw away from him, however, was not so lucky, as one of the appendages that had broken through the windows flattened it with a sickening crunch. Like the tentacles of a giant octopus they whipped about, but on close inspection the appendages appeared to be none other than patch cords that were swollen to an impossible scale. They reminded Hisoka, who watched behind his own shield, of something he had seen on the plans Natsume had shown him in the basement. But it couldn't be . . . 

Could it? 

Beyond, through the now open wall and over the tops of the trees, the full moon hung golden and pregnant. It bathed the courtyard and the lab in a warm light. And for the first time the foursome was able to clearly see Juuohcho's mysterious invader. Like a gargantuan metal dinosaur it loomed above them, swollen and bent over with the sheer mass of dark matter absorbed exponentially over the span of two decades. Reshaped caterpillar treads and makeshift hoofy tripod legs dragged it along drunkenly. From the head of the monster, an array of camera lenses focusing in and out and the unmistakable trapezoidal screen of a Commodore PET unit, displaying garbled lines of incomprehensible text, stared down at them. A lighted strip for a mouth that at one point would have matched the words produced by some hidden speaker flashed a chaotic, nonsensical pattern. And those swollen cables that had lashed out at the shinigami hung from the underbelly like heavy intestines, twitching with animalistic emotion. This was no ordinary machine. It was a thing alive, without question. 

Completing the picture was a series of acoustic horns of various shapes and sizes protruding from its back like the spines of a porcupine or a stegosaur — precisely the devices one might use to project frequencies through space itself. It was those that filled in the final piece for Watari. 

"My God," he breathed, looking up at the monster hardly recognizable as his own creation. "It's Spock-kun, all right, but . . . He's merged with the TVC-one-five!" 

"We've got it right where we want it!" Tatsumi was yelling over the din to Natsume, who typed furiously away. He didn't wait for further instructions from Watari; that was as clear a signal as they came. "Tell them to reverse polarity and increase power to the shields in sections dee-four through -seven, _yesterday_!" 

Meanwhile, Hisoka had sprung to work. He had known in the back of his mind, he had felt it, how dangerous Spock could be. Or, rather, this amalgamation of it with Watari's most awesome invention. The rage was pouring off its aura in buckets. The feeling of betrayal, the craving for vengeance. If Watari would not face the fact that this was what had become of his beloved robot and do something about it, Hisoka would. His hands flew over the controls of the EMP gun, finding the levers that moved the gun itself into position— 

"Bon, what are you doing?" Watari asked him in shock. "I told you that was a weapon of last resort!" 

"Why do you think I'm using it? That is _not_ your Spock-kun out there, Watari-san!" 

"Yes it is!" The passion in his voice was palpable. "He's not himself right now because the TVC-one-five is affectin' his programing. Usin' _reibaku_ should at least separate the two entities, makin' it that much easier t' destroy the malignant one!" 

He stared Hisoka down, each believing he had the right answer. Then Watari's look softened. "Look, Bon, this is no time t' butt heads. But you don't know how t' work this thing." 

That at least was correct. Reluctantly, Hisoka relinquished control of the gun. 

"What're we lookin' at in terms of the shield?" Watari yelled over his shoulder as he fired up the EMP generator. 

"Status is sixty-percent power and rising slowly," came Natsume's reply. "Too slowly." 

"It wouldn't hold something of that mass out at this rate," Tatsumi said, "let alone in!" 

At that Watari swore under his breath. 

Lowering his head over the controls, he failed to see Spock dragging its massive body toward the interior of the engineering lab, and inching closer toward the master on whom it wanted revenge. Hisoka saw it, however, and uttered a quick binding spell that made the machine reel as though from hitting a wall. It roared in frustration, and that was when Watari looked up, shooting an appreciative smile at Hisoka. "Way t' go, Bon." 

Hisoka nodded curtly and turned back to the machine to maintain his concentration. "How about a compromise?" he said to Watari. "Hit it with a low level of EMP, just enough to stun it. Then I'll perform the _reibaku_." 

"Sounds fair," Watari said. 

But before either of them could act upon this plan, Spock killed Hisoka's spell with a renewed burst of energy from the TVC-15. The shock of it landed Hisoka on his backside, while the machine rounded and took off in the opposite direction, scuttling on its mismatched legs, and encountering only mild resistance where the shield attempted to reign it in. It headed straight for the cover of the cherry trees. 

"It's no good," Tatsumi said. "There's no way Security can raise enough power to get the shield up to full output in time. Not the way the system has been damaged already. They've been working off a patch for most of the night." 

"Let me see it," Watari told them. But before he disappeared, he turned to Hisoka with a serious expression, saying, "Bon, I just need one more favor from you." 

"Anything." 

Hisoka regretted saying that as soon as he saw the smile creep onto Watari's lips. "You know the words t' 'Zun-Doko Bushi,' don't you?" 

"Y-yeah, but—" This was sounding worse by the second. 

"Good." Watari pushed something into his hand. "I need you t' go up ont' the roof." 

Hisoka looked down to see that the item Watari had given him was a wireless microphone. Who carried a wireless mic on his person? "Wait — Watari-san . . . What am I supposed to do with this?" 

"I need you t' lure Spock-kun back this way for me," Watari told him as he sat down in the seat Natsume vacated and plugged himself, metaphorically speaking, in front of the laptop. "In the meantime, we'll see what we can do about this shield." 

Hisoka's hesitation must have been obvious on his face because Watari turned to him with a sympathetic smile. "Come on, Bon. Trust me on this. I have a theory." 

"Yes," Tatsumi said, rubbing a temple at the mess they were in, "you've had a lot of those lately." 

"Disregarding the bust ones of course. . . ." 

"I think I know where this is going," Natsume said. "We need a distraction while Watari repairs the security network, and, at the moment, you happen to be best suited for the job." 

"He can repair the barrier system from here?" Hisoka asked. 

"You're looking at the guy who wrote the book on it. Watari was quite a genius back then. He practically designed the system we use now single-handedly." 

"Back then?" Watari clucked his tongue in offense without turning away from the screen. "That's unfair." 

Natsume rolled his eyes. "But, then again," he said quieter for Hisoka's benefit, sending him a knowing wink, "Watari isn't human. Well, not really." 

"Wait, what do you mean, 'not really human'? Natsume-san—" 

But Watari cut him off with a curt, "Roof!" 

—

It was a quick dash up three large flights of stairs to the roof of the engineering lab. From there Hisoka spied the crest of horns along the machine's back moving above the canopy of perpetually-blooming trees, like a sea monster drifting just below the waves. The breeze in his face at this height was the warm breeze of mid-summer that persisted even in the earliest hours of morning, but he felt a chill looking at the alien scene. His legs felt disconnected from his mind for a moment as they cautiously moved him out of the protective cover of the stairwell doorway. 

Below him, Watari hurried between the laptop and the amplifier controlling a set of massive speakers that had been situated auspiciously around the lab. "If my theory's correct," he said as he worked, turning one of said speakers to face out the windows, "there's still a remnant of Spock-kun in that twisted shell out there. After all, he was created t' retrieve memories and form emotional connections, or at least some semblance of them. Why else would the security data show him returnin' here, of all places?" 

"However," Tatsumi offered, "if he — I mean, if _it_ reacted so negatively toward you, Watari-san, what makes you think another pleasant memory from your perspective won't be considered unpleasant by that thing?" 

"Because there has t' be a reason for his comin' here now. Why t'night, Tatsumi? Why wait twenty-two years, why not ten or twenty or thirty, unless for a reason?" 

He cranked the volume knob, then stopped to put his hands on his hips. "There's just one thing I don't get. Who in hell could've patched the barrier system _that well_ in so little time?" 

Natsume shrugged, while Tatsumi turned with interest back to the computer screen. 

"Stroke of genius, that. . . ." Watari said aloud to himself and stared at the ceiling in thought. 

Then he hurried to the laptop, opened a folder, and clicked on a file. A familiar bongo beat blasted from the speakers and shook the other two out of their thoughts. Watari grabbed the megaphone up again as it led into the jaunty first couple of bars of a brassy melody that Hisoka could not mistake for anything other than _that_ song, the bane of his existence, the karaoke version, shaking the building beneath him as it was pounded out by an overworked stereo system. 

"Okay, Bon!" Watari yelled to him. "I'm leavin' it up to you!" 

"What do you mean? Watari—" He would never get his question across over the music. Hisoka growled and turned on the microphone. "What's the meaning of this? The _'Zun-Doko Bushi'_? This is no time for music!" 

"Just sing it!" 

"You're not serious!" 

"Trust me! If you sing it he will come!" 

Tatsumi and Natsume regarded him with a skeptical look, but Watari assured them, "He'll come," before sitting down to the laptop once again. 

"You don't actually expect me to . . . I can't—" Hisoka started to protest, but what was the use? I'm going to make sure you pay me back big time for this, Watari-san, he swore as he steeled his mind or the humiliation to follow. He had already missed the first round of zun-doko'ing and hurried to catch up with the first verse. Just don't think, he told himself: don't think about the words, don't think about how dorky you sound, just . . . 

"Blown by the wind, the flower scatters," he sang into the mic, his free hand clamped over an ear; "even wet by the rain, the flower scatters/ If the flower blooms it will sometime fall/ So is the fate of the flower of lo-o-o-ove." 

As he stretched out the last syllable, Hisoka leaned his weight on one leg with the note, tipping like the Tin Man from _The Wizard of Oz_, just like Kiyoshi when he did his thing. He could feel his cheeks turning bright red. He couldn't believe he was doing this — and that the jaunty tune was actually starting to get to him. 

Somewhere very, very deep down. 

"The ramen shop across the lane . . ." 

"Ba-baya," Watari cheerfully mouthed along with the backup track while he zipped through the network. 

"Red are that girl's Chinese clothes/ She bats her eyes, and always adds/ An extra two or three pieces of pork." 

He swung his free arm back and forth with the music as he sang, "Zun . . . zun-zu-un zun-doko." But he hardly cared how he looked any longer as he saw the machine turn beneath the cherry trees in his direction. If it had ears to perk up, it would surely have done so. By the sounds it made and the curious tilt of what Hisoka determined to be its head, it certainly seemed interested in his performance. Slowly and purposefully, it began to move toward him. 

The all too short interlude between verses passed without Hisoka even realizing. An uncomfortable feeling had descended on him like that of a worm dangling on a hook. 

Watari popped his head out where the wall of windows used to be. "It's workin'!" he yelled up at Hisoka. Then, when he heard nothing more coming from the young man's direction. "Well? Keep goin', Bon!" 

Hisoka blinked, startled by his voice out of his stare. He came up blank. "I don't know the rest of the words!" he shouted back. 

Below him, Watari reeled as though he had just hit his head on a crossbeam. "What do you mean?" he said into the megaphone, getting a nasty bit of feedback as he did so. He turned it off, cupping his hands around his mouth as Hisoka leaned over the edge of the roof to hear him. "You told me you knew the lyrics!" 

"I just blanked! Sorry." 

"The girl at the corner gas station . . ." Watari tried prompting him, singing along. 

He might as well have just done it himself, Hisoka thought. For at that moment he had enough on his hands to worry about. Spock was staring at him just across the grass on the edge of the trees, a hungry expression on its malformed mechanical face. Hisoka wasn't sure if that was a clue he should continue his Pied Piper act, or if he would be wise to quit while he was ahead. 

In the end, it didn't matter. He wasn't Watari, and Spock's memory bank could not be fooled. Emitting a howl of frustration at being hornswoggled that reverberated across the grove with primal fury, it pounced. 

Hisoka turned and ran, just dodging a giant cord that came whipping down on the concrete where he had been standing. Another chased him across the rooftop, tearing up chunks of the building, following close on his heels, and he was quickly running out of roof. Then, abruptly, it ran out of force, perhaps coming up hard against the building's infrastructure. The machine turned dumbly around, moaning like a buck in autumn, looking wildly across the courtyard that it now found itself in. Maybe it had lost sight of him, or so Hisoka could only hope. 

On the contrary. What he had thought to be the back end of the machine all of a sudden reared up before him. Stretching unnaturally into the air, trying desperately to reach him, a jagged horizontal line formed under the stress, creaking open to form a steel trap of a maw as black as a black hole. 

Inside the building, Watari cranked up the power of the EMP gun, moving it carefully into position as its generators sparked and sizzled. Then he fired. The invisible pulse hit the monster that was Spock and the TVC-15 full on. It reeled on impact, collapsing into the form it had presented itself to them as originally in the center of the courtyard. The pavement cracked and shattered under its awesome weight as it scrunched its body as tightly together as it could, as though by doing so it could somehow protect itself from its nonphysical attacker. 

While the machine was distracted, Hisoka leaped down into the courtyard. Pushing himself up off the dew-dampened ground and out of his crouch, he hurried to get out of the way, dodging cables and cords that whipped about him in the thing's feeble attempts to free itself. 

"The shield is up!" Tatsumi informed them. "Generators running at eighty-eight percent. . . . At ninety, ninety-three percent and holding. Good job, Watari-san!" 

Watari cracked a lopsided grin as he leaned over the gun's controls, gradually cranking up the strength of the pulse. "We're not outta the woods yet. This fella's got an unusual amount of spunk in him t' be takin' this much power and still tickin'." 

Another howl broke free from Spock, and something within the machine lashed out. Black tendrils so dark they did not even reflect the moonlight burst and jutted from its body like the arms of some sinister amoeba, reaching out for the source of its suffering with such unnatural and abominable force as to almost be called demonic. Some of the tendrils flattened as they splashed against the ground, spreading like a flood of black water across the grass. And they were reaching, once again, even if this time only vicariously, for Watari. 

Hisoka slapped his palms together. Intertwining his fingers, he willed himself to peace and summoned the concentration and willpower he desperately needed at that moment. Rapidly and clearly, with purpose, he chanted the words: 

"Rin. Pyo. To. Sha. Kai. Ji. Retsu. Zai. Sen. . . . _Reibaku!_" 

As soon as the final syllables had been uttered, the machine was enveloped in a forcefield of Hisoka's own making. Even its dark tendrils were retracted inside the bubble against its will. 

Hisoka's breath left him for a moment. He could feel the thing's desperate attempts at resisting the barrier as though it were knocking on the skin of his own body from the inside — could hear its wordless rage toward his coworker as though it were being broadcast directly into his brain. Stubbornly he maintained his concentration, remembering the techniques against this kind of mind invasion that the chief had taught him. But he couldn't believe it had actually worked. Despite his skepticism, Hisoka had given the spell his best effort; but the implications did not sit well with him. 

It meant that somewhere inside that monstrous machine there was at least one soul. Or at least something close enough to be its equivalent. 

"In case you were wonderin', I expected that would happen!" Watari shouted to him across the courtyard and over the horrendous noise. "But nice recovery, Bon! What would I have done without you?" 

"You would have died," came the nonchalant response. 

Watari chuckled. 

"Just, whatever you do, don't cross the streams!" 

Hisoka looked up as he tentatively opened his hands, increasing the tension on Spock and the TVC-15. "Why? What happens?" 

"Eh . . . nothing. I was only kidding." But Watari did not dwell on his allusion's falling flat. Humor did elevate one's hopes, but this was no time for him to be giving the kid a bad time. "Tatsumi!" he yelled over his shoulder. 

Tatsumi hurried to his side, tilting his head to hear him better. "Yes, what?" 

"Where're Tsuzuki and the others? They should be here for this!" 

The secretary adjusted his glasses, which could not have meant good news. "Still somewhere in the belly of the Castle! I've sent them mail several times informing them of the urgency if the situation, but so far there has been no response!" 

Watari muttered under his breath as he jacked the electromagnetic pulse up a notch, "Great. What a wonderful time t' go off on a treasure hunt." 

—  
_send back my dream test baby . . ._

_Footnote: Translating enka requires a bit of artistic interpretation, and almost always loses its poetry, so if anyone out there understands Japanese and wants to take their own shot at it (minus kanji, though), the lyrics for the first verse are as follows: _

kaze ni fukarete hana ga chiru  
ame ni nuretemo hana ga chiru  
saita hana nara itsuka chiru  
onaji sadame no koi no hana  
mukou yokochou no ramen-ya  
akai ano ko no chaina fuku  
sotto me-kubase chaashuu wo  
itsumo omake ni ni san mai 


	19. Spock kun Returns

Terazuma let out a low whistle as they took in the expanse of the space that had a moment ago been sealed behind a literal firewall. "What do you suppose this place is?" he thought aloud, bending in order to look farther up the chamber beyond. 

"It looks like some sort of file room," Tsuzuki said. 

"Or a morgue," Kira echoed. She gestured for Terazuma to hand over possession of Fluffy to her. 

"Fools," the demon said, as he seemed fond of doing, as the transaction was made. "Leave it to human weakling mortals to attach some kind of significance to an inconsequential place such as this." 

The other four, already used to his empty insults, ignored him. 

"The question is," Tsuzuki said, "is it safe?" 

In the meantime, Wakaba had taken to examining the area before the statues guarding the entrance where a shallow depression ran in an unbroken curve around the complex, indicating where the wall of fire had been. As the others stared on bated breath, she nonchalantly stepped over it, inviting no disastrous consequences on herself. 

"Seems like it," she said under her breath, and pressed studiously onward. 

With a shrug, the others followed her, Tsuzuki picking up the metallic bug from where it had fallen, Kira hooking a finger under Fluffy's collar for good measure. 

They could not help looking all around them once they had arrived in the steel-encased chamber. Every surface reflected brilliant silver light, and in every rectangular partition was a bronze plaque with neat characters set into it. Drawing close to one wall for a better look, it became apparent what they signified. "These are people's names," Tsuzuki told them. Sure enough, they were spelled out in Japanese characters with the Roman equivalent underneath. And beneath that: 

"Death dates?" Terazuma asked. "So this is a kind of file room after all." 

Fluffy said nothing to contradict him, but a hungry look crept over his chubby features. 

"Maybe not," Kira said. "I thought so before, but it doesn't quite make sense. For one, Enma-cho already has redundancies regarding their data, and second, these drawers — if that's what they are — look too small for files." 

"I've heard about something like this," Wakaba said, looking up from the GPS device. "Something about a secret . . . cabinet of curiosities or something buried beneath the grounds." 

The demon twisted in Kira's arms to face her when she said that. Terazuma asked, "Curiosities?" 

"Yeah, like rare rocks and bones, and artifacts and stuff. It was all the rage during the Meiji era, along with all those other Victorian things. Right, Tsuzuki?" 

"Wrong part of Meiji, Wakaba-chan." 

"Well, that's very interesting stuff," Kira said, "but I should be returning to the surface now. I'm afraid any more time spent here with this thing—" She indicated Fluffy, whom she shifted to a better position like he were a fidgety toddler. "—would be inviting disaster." 

"There's an elevator in the center column," Wakaba told her. 

Kira nodded her thanks. 

"You mean you don't want to stick around and see what curiosities this place might hold?" Tsuzuki asked her. 

"Tempting as that may be," she said around a slight sigh, "as long as I'm on the clock, I look out for only my client. Have you forgotten, Tsuzuki-san?" She fixed him an histrionic gaze. "I'm a mercenary." 

"No! Halt, human!" Fluffy sniveled desperately. "I'm sure we can spare just a minute. O-or two." 

"And let your sticky fingers have their way? I don't think so." She narrowed her eyes at the little demon. "Besides, weren't you saying just now how inconsequential this place is?" 

"I take it back—" 

"See you, Tsuzuki." With a curt wave, she headed for the elevators. 

"Wait," Tsuzuki called after her as though just remembering. She turned, and he held the mechanical bug up to the light. "You don't mind if we keep this, do you?" 

She shrugged. "Why should I? It's not like I asked for it or anything. Just . . . lock up when you leave, or, you know, whatever you have to do." 

As Kira left for the center column, Wakaba made her way to a control panel mounted in the thick walls just behind one of the winged statues. Pulling a retractable keyboard down she immediately set to work. 

"I'm trying to see if I can't get the firewall back up," she told Terazuma as he came over to ask what she was doing. "If Fluffy wasn't responsible for all the weird things happening down here, then all those beings that were affected might still be wandering around somewhere." 

"Whatever you do, don't break it." 

As though I would, Wakaba thought sardonically. She entered her commands, and with the sound of bolts locking into place and the hiss of escaping gas, the firewall roared back to life beyond the forelegs of the statues. Though Terazuma probably hadn't meant anything by that comment that otherwise sounded like male compensation for a lack of computer know-how, Wakaba shot him a gloating look anyway. 

Then she looked over his shoulder. "Where's Tsuzuki?" 

Terazuma turned, but there was no one there. He dashed out into the crossroads between the aisles and looked both ways, while Wakaba called Tsuzuki's name. 

"Over here!" came the response from down an aisle further in. 

They rushed toward his voice, finding Tsuzuki descending a flight of stairs between levels. "Just where do you think you're going?" Wakaba asked him. 

He smiled back excitedly. "I thought maybe, since we're here, we might as well check this place out." 

Terazuma leaned over the railing. "But a few hours ago you were complaining about your stomach. I thought you wanted out of here even more than I did." 

"Just indulge me for a few minutes. I promise it won't be a complete waste of time." 

Exchanging glances, the other two shrugged and followed after him. They had nothing to lose, they figured, except sleep. 

—

It was a dark and alien place Hisoka found himself in, disorienting yet somehow not as unsettling as he had expected. Lacking was the impression that anything here wished him harm. A simple-minded yet logical purity surrounded him. As he looked around, lights and shapes made themselves known to his adjusting eyes. Colored streams of light rippled out over the horizon from his feet like the lines on a topographical map, building pylons into space — circulating with a constant flow of energy and data that seemed to be regulated by some kind of pulsating heart. . . . 

There! Hisoka spotted it across the way: the silver tower rising above a plain of LEDs and magnetic tape. An impregnable fortress of code spinning at the speed of thought. "Spock-kun . . ." 

As sights unfolded before his eyes he saw it under attack from veins so black they seemed invisible, penetrating the tower, sucking the light out of the arteries that struggled desperately to shake them off. Feeding the tumor that loomed above, rippling organically like something straight out of _Videodrome_, as malignant and demonic a force as any that Hisoka had encountered. 

He raised his eyes, and reality returned to him full-force. In the middle of the courtyard, between him and the rubble-filled cavity that up until a short while ago had been the engineering lab, Juuohcho's invader writhed, it's metallic skin swathed in the sparks of both a physical and metaphysical shorting out. It's garbled, electronic bellows pierced the air, ringing off the sides of the buildings with an underlying sound that was unnervingly not man-made. The lighted parts of its hulking body flashed erratically on and off. 

"Watari-san!" Hisoka yelled over the noise. "I found him!" 

"Tsuzuki?" came the excited response. 

"No, Spock-kun! You were right! I can feel him. . . ." In the back of his mind, confused and angry, but not like before. "He's trying hard to resist the TVC-one-five, but it doesn't look good!" 

"The TVC-one-five is useless on its own," Watari said. "It needs a user t' do any damage. It must be usin' him as its mode of transportation — like Master Blaster!" 

A cancer was more like it, Hisoka thought. Another howl, and something within the forcefield made a grating moan. Something gave. The pressure intensified and the bubble expanded. Hisoka grunted as he put all his strength into compensating. He had to keep it contained; he was in too deep to abort now. . . . 

"The _reibaku_ alone isn't going to do it, Watari-san! As long as Spock-kun's online, I can't separate the two entities!" 

"I've got the same problem here." Watari fiddled with the controls of the EMP gun, but there was nothing more he could do. It was already at full power, and to make matters worse . . . "The EMPs should be causin' a total meltdown of the electronic parts, but they only seem t' be feedin' that thing more power! I don't understand. Must be somethin' it brought along from the other side . . ." 

"If only we could just shut him down," Hisoka thought aloud. 

A haughty grin pulled at one side of Watari's mouth. "Once again, Bon, your understated genius inspires me. The TVC-one-five would be a sittin' duck without his body — albeit with a fully-operable subspace frequency oscillator strapped t' its back — but we could destroy it easily! However, there is one tiny complication that I'm afraid in a case like this becomes a matter of gravest importance." 

Hisoka didn't like the sound of that. 

"Namely, just how do you suggest we get close enough t' do that?" It appeared to be a rhetorical question, as Watari continued: "If we had the key, we might just be able t' pull it off . . ." 

"What key?" 

"The back-up of his hard-drive— If I had the proper codes, some way t' enter then int' his system, then it would be a simple matter of forcin' a hard shut down, regressin' him t' his state before the incident—" 

"Great!" said Hisoka. "Where is it?" 

"I wish I only knew! I lost it in the implosion twenty-two years ago." Watari forced a laugh in frustration. "It's times like these I'm reminded of the immortal words of Socrates when he said, 'I drank what?'" 

—

"Do you know where you're going?" Terazuma asked with skepticism in his voice as they turned down a corridor that looked the same as the last one. 

"I'm pretty sure I'm on the right track," Tsuzuki said as he studied the inscriptions on the drawers. 

"Pretty sure . . ." 

"He's on a mission," Wakaba said. She showed the GPS to her partner. "I don't know where we're going either, but at least it's not in circles." 

Terazuma huffed. He took out a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, tapped one out, then thought better of it and put it back, the whole ritual performed out of nervous habit. "You know something about this place you're not telling us, Tsuzuki?" 

"I'll tell you this," Tsuzuki said excitedly. "A cabinet of curiosities is not far off the mark. When Wakaba said that I was reminded of something that had come up during the Devil's Trill case. I just never paid much attention to it before. The violin that was in Hijiri's possession was said to have been confiscated by Enma as a precaution — you know, just in case there was still some sort of curse on it, even though Surgatanus was vanquished. Originally the instrument had been banned from the country, but after it was sneaked in under the radar without raising any red flags until that case, it was decided it was too dangerous to let exchange hands any further. We were never told where it ended up — I guess we must have assumed it would be destroyed — but apparently there was plenty of precedent for just that sort of thing." 

"What are you saying? That the violin ended up here?" 

"Along with all the other atypical instruments and weapons and who knows what else that disrupt the spiritual order." 

"So you _can_ take it with you!" said Wakaba. "At least . . . in a sense." 

"Right. But in cases like the violin, the owner didn't die. I don't think these are death dates. I think they're the dates of confiscation." 

Terazuma stood up straight. "This place is a goddamn evidence locker. You looking to reopen a case?" 

"Not reopen per se. . . ." 

Putting a contemplative finger to his chin, Tsuzuki continued to scan the plaques. There were foreign names here as well, but none seemed to be in any particular order. Still he seemed to be confident he was moving in the right direction. 

"A-ha!" he said at last, and grabbed a step stool in order to reach a particular drawer that sat in the wall just above their heads. 

His companions looked up to read the plaque, and when they did their eyes went wide. "That's Watari's!" Wakaba ejaculated. 

"You've gotta be shitting me," said Terazuma. 

But it was no joke. "Watari Yutaka" was engraved in Chinese characters and Roman on the bronze plaque, followed by a date: July 2, 1980. 

As they stared, Tsuzuki gave the handle a good pull. The drawer was wedged in fairly tight, and yanking it at an angle made it stick. Wakaba flinched, and Terazuma asked him, "Are you sure you should be opening that? I mean, have some respect for the man's privacy." 

"You don't think there's something dangerous in here, do you?" Tsuzuki said as he tried again. 

Terazuma didn't answer, but Wakaba suddenly piped up, "Do you think there are files on _us_ in this place?" 

"I don't know." Tsuzuki gave the drawer a good and gentle tug and it opened uneventfully. "And I don't think I want to find out." 

Yet he didn't seem to have any problem tomb-robbing his coworker — at least, in an indirect sense. He reached his arm up and into the drawer, fishing around for anything inside. His fingers must have hit something, for there was the sound of an object rattling against the sides of an empty box. At last he managed to grab ahold of it, and held it up for his companions to see. It appeared to be nothing more than a cassette tape, rattling dully in its plastic case. Across a piece of masking tape stuck to it was written one word: Spock. 

"What is that?" Terazuma said. 

"This," Tsuzuki said with gravity, "is Spock-kun." 

"What does that mean?" said Wakaba. 

Tsuzuki closed the drawer and stepped down. "It was one of Watari's old inventions. To make a long story short, an experimental recognition AI robot Watari lost more than twenty years ago in a mysterious accident." 

"Spock-kun, huh?" Terazuma said. "Sounds like a pretty innocent invention for Watari — I mean, next to Jason-kun and Freddie-kun, and Michael-kun . . ." 

"And Hannibal-kun," Wakaba added. 

Terazuma shivered. "Jesus, don't remind me. Convenient household appliances, my foot. I haven't been able to so much as look at a sausage since." 

"I'm not sure I understand. There's a whole AI program on that tape? And how did you know it would be here?" 

"I didn't," Tsuzuki said with a slight shrug. "All of a sudden I just remembered what Watari kept repeating to himself before he died. 'Spock-kun.' I didn't make the connection with that old robot until we got here, and then it all clicked." He turned the cassette over in his hand. "To tell you the truth, I have no idea what this has to do with Spock; but Watari should be glad to have it back, even if just for sentimental value. He'll be able to tell us what it all means, when he wakes up." 

He made a motion to slip it into his coat pocket, while an uneasy expression came over Wakaba's features. "Are you sure it's wise to take that? I mean, if what you said is correct, it's here for a reason. . . ." 

"I'm sure it—" Tsuzuki started to say, when a buzzing in the same pocket cut him off. 

It was his cell phone. He took it out and flipped it open. "More mail from Tatsumi," he told the others while he scrolled through. His brows furrowed as he stared closer. "Looks like there were a couple of messages. When did these come in? . . ." 

"What does he say?" 

"It doesn't sound good," he said aloud to himself. Then, after a moment, to the others, "We've got to get back to the office right away. Emergency. Something about an intruder." The phone folded up with a dull click. "Anyway, looks like we're going to need this after all." He indicated the cassette, taking off in a jog back the way they had come. 

"Wait," Wakaba said as they ran after him. Terazuma finishing for her, "Just what is going on?" 

Tsuzuki was already bounding up the stairs, that clunked metallically under his footsteps. "I'll explain on the way up," he shouted over his shoulder. "There's no time to lose." 

—

Watari searched the surface of the monster machine through binoculars, studying each inch of its skin for any point of penetration. It was tough going what with the _reibaku_ shield obscuring his view and the writhing of the machine itself. At last, however, his searching paid off. 

"Bingo. . . . There're a couple of serial ports visible underneath what remains of the keyboard console," he announced. "It might be a long shot, but I could try wedgin' something in there. Let me see. . . ." He rummaged through one of the file boxes he had brought along, looking for the appropriate cable. "I'm gonna need a lot of extensions!" he said suggestively over his shoulder to the two at the laptop. 

"You're going to hook it up to your computer?" Natsume asked as he came to Watari's assistance. 

"And hope the cables don't snap before we can make some headway? Yeah. At this point it looks like our only option. All we need is t' simply get _int'_ his system. From there we should be able t' shut Spock-kun down remotely." 

"You want me to do it once you're in?" 

Watari shot him a skeptical look. "Do you know Commodore Basic?" 

"Man, I was eleven when those things came out." 

In other words, no, Watari thought. A resigned look on his face, he shook his head and patted Natsume on the shoulder. "Guess I have t' do everything myself around here . . . Bon!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth and stepping closer to the broken windows. 

"I'm here!" came the distracted response. 

"Listen very carefully, 'cause here's what we're gonna do. There's an accessible serial port on Spock-kun's exterior—" 

"Is it normal size?" 

Watari hadn't really thought of that; in his urgency to find one, he'd just assumed it was. He checked again. "Yeah, it is. Now, I'm gonna climb up there, plug him int' my laptop and put him t' sleep from there. It's gonna be a quick and delicate operation 'cause I have t' get right up next t' the beast, so we only have one shot at this. With me so far?" 

Hisoka nodded. Then, remembering Watari could not see him, shouted: "I copy." 

"Good. Now, right before I get up there t' connect the cable I need you to abort the _reibaku_." 

"What?" Hisoka said under his breath. Was he mad? "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea. Right now it seems to be the only thing keeping that thing under control. Not only that, but the rebound—" 

"I know." Watari sounded tired as he explained, "But it's a risk we're gonna have t' take. As long as the containment shield is up, there's no way I can get in there. And if this gambit works, and we succeed in shuttin' Spock-kun down, you better not be bound t' his soul. I know he's just a program, but in a way so are we; and I don't want you followin' him t' that dark place." 

There was silence on the other side of the courtyard as Hisoka contemplated the gravity of his words. Hypothetical though the idea was, he wouldn't want to risk it coming true. 

"Besides," Watari added as though to reassure him, "I should have a whole fifteen seconds or so before that thing recovers from such a massive release of energy." 

"I hope you're right," Hisoka said, steeling himself. "For all our sakes." 

"Then you'll do it?" 

"On your signal." 

Watari smiled as he gripped a coiled length of cable and slung it over his shoulder. His heart was racing like a five cylinder engine, but he took comfort in the equations running instinctually through his mind. Failure was not an option. He couldn't afford it, financially or egoistically. And what was the worst that could happen? They could die in the attempt? Mere nickels and dimes to a shinigami. 

Still, just in case, he felt compelled to say, "It's been nice workin' with you, Kurosaki-kun." 

"Watari-san—" Hisoka couldn't believe what he was saying. That sober tone wasn't like the scientist. But he couldn't argue either. "Same here." 

"On your mark!" Watari began. 

But he didn't get any farther than that. Suddenly he noticed something approaching from the meadow outside the courtyard. Behind the machine's bulk, something big and dark was moving toward them at high speed. Two reddish-orange lights like the backup lights of a car but much higher off the ground approached and grew steadily brighter. Nearly forgetting about the cable over his shoulder, Watari hurried to grab up the binoculars once again. What he saw made him break out a grin and laugh out loud in relief. The lights were fiery eyes that belonged to a giant, horned and winged black lion, mane flying as he bounded effortlessly over the trees. Two human figures clung to his hair; and as they neared he made out the features of Wakaba and Tsuzuki. 

"What is it?" Tatsumi asked him when he noticed Watari's hesitation. 

Watari beamed. "The cavalry has arrived! See for yourself." And he handed Tatsumi the binoculars. 

In seconds Kokushungei had charged through the invisible shield that kept the machine in and into the courtyard, pulling up beside the engineering lab like a car in a spin to the curb. "Watari! Heads up!" Tsuzuki shouted down, and tossed something palm-sized and rectangular to the man in question. 

It was the cassette tape. The key to Spock-kun. 

Watari wasted no time expressing his gratitude. "Abort _reibaku_ now!" he yelled to Hisoka as soon as the tape was securely in his grasp. 

Hisoka did as told, disconnecting himself from Spock's essence. He threw himself face-down in the grass and covered his head as the bubble of energy that surrounded the machine was propelled with awesome force back in his direction, like a ricocheting rubber ball. The wind it left in its wake whipped his hair and clothes and the grass in front of his face. Then it slammed into the side of the building behind Hisoka, cracking the exterior wall and blowing out windows, leaving a hemispherical dent in its place. 

Back inside the engineering lab, Tatsumi winced. The way things were going, their department would be in the red for decades. 

The machine seemed momentarily stunned by the disappearance of the binding spell's enclosure. It stood there dumbly for a moment, as though trying to find its footing again, but Watari knew it would be all too brief a moment. With the _reibaku_ down, he leaped up onto a narrow shelf on Spock's body, clinging to a nob in the skin. By some stroke of luck, the cassette I/O drive appeared intact and unaffected by Spock's time in whatever universe he had been trapped in, which was more than could be said for the chiclet keyboard adjacent to it. 

He opened the drive, shoved the cassette tape in, and closed the lid, the second time doing the trick. "Here goes something," he said under his breath, mentally crossing his fingers, and pressed play. Nothing happened immediately, except for the whir of the data loading slowly into Spock's system. 

But Watari wasn't so foolish as to wait for the big bang. He let go and jumped back down. He landed squarely on his feet, took a step backward, and promptly fell on his backside. 

Tatsumi hurried to his side. "Are you injured, Watari-san?" he asked, trying to help the other man to his feet. Watari waved him off. 

In the meantime, Wakaba had nimbly dismounted from the lion and ran inside the engineering lab, stepping around broken glass and chunks of concrete in the process. "Gatekeeper coming through!" she said as she made her way to the laptop. Natsume was already vacating the seat when he saw her approach. She flopped down into it, her orange eye seeming to have an extraordinary jack o' lantern-like glow to it in the commotion. Wasting no time on pleasantries, or even to ask who the heck the other was, she set to work activating the gate system, fingers flying deftly over the keys. 

It felt like minutes had gone by with nothing happening. Then the blue and white screen set into Spock's head abruptly went black. The array of cameras soon followed suit. Before their eyes the whole front half of the monster machine sagged lifelessly and even seemed to shrink upon itself with almost imperceptible gradualness. The other half of it bellowed its ire. It wasn't going anywhere now, and it knew that all too well. 

Tatsumi looked up at the noise in the middle of hoisting Watari up by his armpits. His mouth fell open in an uncharacteristic expression of surprise. "What is that?" 

Watari looked up as well. The machine had reversed itself, the back half stretching up into the air, opening the maw it had turned on Hisoka, using its cables as rudimentary arms braced against its side to pull itself away from the useless skeleton that was Spock, like a cicada emerging from its old skin. A seam began to form between the two bodies, the inky black dark matter bridging the gap between. 

"Meiotic division!" Watari said in awe, adjusting his glasses. "It's tryin' t' split itself in twain! I've never seen this kind of behavior in an electronic device!" 

"Not that," Tatsumi said. He pointed upward. 

Watari stepped back and nearly stumbled again over Tatsumi's shoes. 

A black hole was fast opening up in the air above the new head of the beast. The wind swirled about the courtyard as though being sucked inward, and the ground began to vibrate steadily. An alien ringing sound filled the space, echoing off the sides of the buildings, but it was not simply the effect of the changing air pressure on the inner ear. It was coming from the TVC-15. 

—

In the file room deep underground, the vibration above made the whole place rattle, jostling computer equipment just paper-widths off the tables, but making enough noise for the Gushoushin brothers to panic. 

"Ah!" squawked the elder as he glanced at the computer screen. The younger rushed to look over his shoulder. "The anomalies are back — and in full force! This data indicates they're _inside_ the shield. What's going to hold them back now?" 

"Where is this happening?" 

The elder hummed in thought. "Engineering—" 

"_That's almost right above us!_" 

Sitting in the swiveling chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, Kazusa tried to be brave; but she couldn't help being reminded of another time she had hid like this while the walls shook around her. The same could not be said for K, who had crouched low to the ground under one of the desks, looking as though he would have buried himself in the floor if he had the option. 

The Gushoushin must have noticed their banter had done nothing to comfort the girl. They exchanged glances, the younger breaking a nervous smile. "Eh, don't worry, Kazusa-chan," he tried. "This ceiling is made of like a foot of steel and concrete. I'm sure we'll be safe here." 

"I know," she said in a small voice, looking to the ceiling. "I'm not worried about us." 

The Gushoushin exchanged glances. 

"Ooh. . . ." The elder's face scrunched up and he balled his fists. He yelled to no one who could hear them: "Keep it together, everyone!" 

—

Hisoka slowly raised himself off the ground. His hands and knees felt raw from pitching himself forward with such force, and the dew had dampened his jeans and jacket sleeves, but that was little price to pay for escaping his rebounding soul-binding spell. 

Someone knelt down beside him and touched his shoulder. "Hisoka! Are you all right?" 

He would have recognized that voice anywhere. "Tsuzuki . . ." 

He raised himself to his knees and sat back on his heels, taking in the scene. The misshapen machine dragging its front end, Kokushungei and now Byakko, as well, clawing and biting at its raging back, and the hole growing larger by the minute above it. He turned to look at the damage to the building behind him and put a hand to his forehead. "Tatsumi's gonna be pissed . . ." 

"Hisoka . . ." Tsuzuki repeated, and he realized he hadn't answered his partner's question. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He waited a moment for the blood rushing to his head to return to normal. "What happened to Spock-kun? Did Watari manage to shut it down?" 

"Yeah. But we're not out of the woods yet. Whatever attached itself to him is trying to break free." 

Hisoka grabbed his sleeve. "Tsuzuki, that other thing is the device that caused the implosion twenty-two years ago — it's responsible for the anomalies occurring all over Juuohcho tonight!" 

Tsuzuki looked up at it, as though searching for some clue. It was not difficult for Hisoka to grasp his train of thought. 

"Yes, in the Castle of Candles, too. It's disrupting the fabric of space itself. It must be destroyed—" 

He tried to stand and rally his strength but felt woozy as soon as he did so. Tsuzuki put an arm around his waist to support him, asking, "You used _reibaku_, didn't you?" 

Hisoka nodded. "But, really, I'm fine—" 

"Oh, no you're not. Your part in his battle is over. Leave the rest up to those two—" He nodded his head toward the two shikigami tearing up the remainder of the landscape. "—and let's get you somewhere safe." 

Meanwhile, Wakaba was working frantically to find the coordinates that would allow her to seal the thing away for good, but it was proving more difficult than first imagined. At least the random wormholes from earlier in the night had all but ceased; the hole the TVC-15 had opened up above the courtyard, however, was deliberate and well-fed. The ever-expanding edges began to glow with a circulating heat, as though it were literally burning a hole through space itself. 

"I can't get a good reading on this portal," Wakaba said in frustration as she tried formula after formula. "And it won't even recognize the usual passcodes. I'll have to find a long way in, but this isn't normal gate phenomenon. It doesn't resemble anything I've seen before." 

"None of us have seen anything like it before," Watari said, hurrying over debris toward her with Tatsumi in tow. 

She looked up at his intrusion. "What have you dragged me into? Where does it go?" 

"A heret'fore unknown universe made up entirely of dark matter — with the exception of my two long lost inventions here for twenty-two years, that is. Come t' think of it, I wonder if they were even visible t' whatever's over there. . . ." 

He appeared entirely too chipper about the whole thing. Maybe if it were a controlled experiment in which the welfare of the Judgment Bureau was _not_ on the line, that would be appropriate. But unknown . . . dark matter . . . "Oh, no. . . ." she groaned. 

"Oh, yes." Watari turned to gaze at his unintentional handiwork. "We really ripped the universe a new one!" 

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face," Tatsumi muttered, pushing his glasses back into place. "Think. We have to solve this thing. _You_ have to solve this thing." 

"At least Terazuma and Byakko are doin' a pretty good job keepin' the TVC-one-five on its toes." Whether Watari meant that as an excuse or not, they seemed to be fairing well, both black lion-beast and white tiger sinking their teeth into metal skin and squishy dark matter alike, tearing whatever they could. 

"But at long as the portal between our worlds remains open it will continue to grow larger." 

"I know." Watari stroked his chin for a moment before raising his index finger into the air. "Of course. The TVC-one-five operates on the same principles as a patch oscillator. At least, it did when I was testin' it. It seems t' be functionin' pretty well independently now." 

"How does that help me?" Wakaba said, but by her look she was starting to catch his drift. 

Watari spread his arms. "Each patch creates a unique frequency. And you can only project one frequency and its harmonic resonances at a time. If you want t' replicate them later, or not repeat the same frequencies over and over, you write them down." 

"You wrote the patches down?" Tatsumi seemed surprised. 

Watari puffed out his chest. "Of course. I may seem the disorganized, absent-minded professor, but I assure you I'm nothin' if not a meticulous note-taker. I would have written down every patch I tried." 

"Including this one?" 

"If the device is in fact dialin' the last known address, which I believe it is, yes." 

"Wait a second," Natsume spoke up. "That's all well and good, but you're forgetting every record of the TVC-one-five but the original sketches was confiscated by Enma after the implosion and-or destroyed." 

"Oh, Natsume, you're young yet." Watari shook his head. "While it's true my journal and equipment and anything with the device's name on it disappeared — whether lost in subspace or deleted from the material sphere, I don't care t' know — the numbers remain. Only Mother would find any significance in my empirical ramblin's, hence their deletion from my brain. But no one fed her my copious notes. They wouldn't know where t' start." 

He looked quite satisfied with himself, his arms crossed over his chest. The others just stared blankly, contemplating the ramifications of what he had just revealed, perhaps wondering too why he hadn't revealed them earlier. 

"Hold on," he added; "I've got them here somewhere." And he began to dig through thick files of loose leaf paper he had brought along with him; which, to the other two men who picked up and browsed through the rejected ones, seemed like a hopelessly random collection of mathematical free associations and sloppy sketches. 

At last he pulled a couple of sheets of paper out from the midst of an overflowing folder, flapping them stiff and handing them to Wakaba. "These should help," he told her. "The last coordinates here represent the last patch I tried before all hell broke loose. And these—" He indicated the sheet underneath. "—are the calculations I was workin' on last evenin'. They're a little crude. . . ." 

Difficult to read was more like it. However . . . "That'll do," Wakaba said, and began to put in a new set of values and commands that corresponded to his information while Watari went back to attend to his electromagnetic pulse generator. In fact, the more she did so, the more familiar the process began to feel. "These aren't so different from the procedures for sealing the Gensoukai gate after all," she thought aloud, surprise evident in her voice. "It's just that much of the process is reversed. As long as I remember to think of the opposite . . ." 

"You'll be able to close it?" Tatsumi asked. 

She nodded. "It really isn't so complicated once I have the proper values." 

However, almost as soon as she had said that, the computer emitted an inauspicious ding. The three all leaned closer toward the screen. "Oh no," Wakaba said again. "My calculations are off. The information won't go through." 

"What do you mean?" said Natsume. "Watari's numbers were incorrect?" 

"No." She shook her head, trying an alternative route, also to no avail. "It's mine. I must have messed up somewhere, left out a decimal point or something. . . ." 

Tatsumi glanced back outside. The wind and noise were terrible. The device was putting up quite a struggle against the two shikigami, but the hole in the sky appeared unaffected by their tussle. If anything, something seemed to be coming through. It was not immediately visible, but the fighting end of the machine was clearly growing in size, swelling up like an inflatable beach ball just as fast as Kokushungei and Byakko could tear it apart. 

"Watari-san, shut that gun down!" he said over the roar, but wasn't sure the other understood him even though he nodded and gave Tatsumi a thumb up. 

Just as all things seemed hopeless from Wakaba's point of view, she caught the shape of something small and fuzzy and brown drifting out of the corner of her eye. She paid it no attention until it landed ungracefully with a painful _clack_ on the side of the keyboard. 

"Zero-zero-three?" she said. "What are you doing here?" 

The owl did not answer. Instead she righted herself, deleted the nonsense she had entered upon landing, and began to type something onto the screen with purpose, hunting and pecking with her beak and claws interchangeably. Wakaba was too stunned to stop her, at first startled that she would do such a thing, and second because 003's input actually made sense. Then the owl pressed enter, and the counter-portal started up with a flash from the screen and a whir deep in the machine. 

Wakaba and Natsume leaned in even closer to the screen. "That's it," Wakaba breathed. "Oh my god, that's it! 

"We're in!" she yelled to Tatsumi and Watari. The latter cheered and pumped a fist in the air; the former exhaled in relief. 

The machine under attack knew something was wrong immediately. The black hole above its head slowed its spinning until it came to a stop. Then, with a brilliant flash of light on their end of the universe, its spinning began to reverse. 

The TVC-15 reversed itself as well, throwing the shikigami off and losing chunks of artificial flesh in the process as it did a 180 and pointed its new head at the engineering lab. In doing so, its body folded in half, causing Spock's dead weight to flop over onto its side and nearly roll over the top of Hisoka and Tsuzuki, who were making their way to join the others inside the building. The tentacular cables braced the machine like the legs of a tarantula, each moving the head into position independently. 

Ignorant of the changes, and falling into her old familiar stride, Wakaba continued to work. The portal acted like a proper black hole now, sucking dark matter off the back of the machine and out of its horns like oil from water. 

The machine howled from its makeshift mouth, which warped and started to atrophy under the suction. Weakened, its limbs folded under it when Kokushungei, his eyes blazing with unholy fire, wrapped his jaws around what might have been its jugular had it been an animal. Rising on his hindlegs, Byakko joined the fray with slashing claws, cultivating a ball of energy in his own open mouth. 

The gate was nearly closed. The tension between the two opposing forces was at a head, the ground trembling with the mounting pressure. There was no way all the matter that had transferred over from the other plane was going to return to whence it came; its sheer mass, stuck in transition, was all that was keeping the portal from closing completely. 

And Byakko was about to fire right into its core. 

"It's going to explode!" Watari warned them as he pulled the plug on the EMP gun. 

The portal sealed itself with a flash that lit up the courtyard like day; and Byakko released his charge. It ripped through the outer layer of the TVC-15, tearing it to shreds just as a surge of dark matter welled up from within, expanding outward and enveloping all in its path. 

Wakaba looked away and threw up her arms, managing to shield herself, 003 and the laptop at once. Tatsumi and Natsume simultaneously raised a defensive barrier over their party within the engineering lab, while Watari casually opened a clear plastic umbrella printed with yellow ducks. Trapped outside on the grass, Tsuzuki reached inside his jacket for a fuda, bringing it to bear just as the dark matter came raining down upon him and Hisoka. Great Jell-o-like globs of it mixed with shrapnel and colored wire fell hard and slid down the sides of the bubble while they watched wide-eyed. 

And, slowly, silence descended on the courtyard. So utter was it after the ruckus raised by the combination of Watari's inventions that for a moment Hisoka thought he had temporarily lost his hearing. He worked his jaw and rubbed at his ears, but when Tsuzuki asked if he was all right he heard him just fine. 

He managed a shaky, affirmative, "M-m." And when Tsuzuki leaned against his back, he did not bother to shake him off and chew him out for it as he usually would have done. "Good," Tsuzuki slurred next to his ear. "'Cause suddenly I don't feel so good, and if I had to carry you . . ." 

"That's all right," Hisoka said, just remembering the pain his partner had been in earlier. Hard to believe that was only a few hours ago, and not the days it felt like. "I'm pretty sure I can manage." 

The courtyard and the sides of the buildings were littered with debris. The lightest materials continued to slowly drift to the ground, fluttering through the air, while twisted chunks of metal and the guts of electronics made a chaotic pattern on the broken concrete and torn-up grass like the remnants of an alien spaceship's crash landing. Spock alone remained pretty much in one piece, lying on its side, back blown out, yet — by some miracle of chance or physics — nearly completely reduced to normal size. Large blobs of fuzzy dark matter completed the scene, some still smoking or jiggling where they lay. 

In the center of one such puddle, and liberally covered with the stuff, Terazuma pushed himself up into a sitting position with a groan. "Ugh . . . I feel like the floor of a taxi cab," he remarked as Byakko licked the gunk out of his hair, making one side stick straight up. Then he noticed where he was, and moreover that he had no clothes. "Kannuki!" 

"Here." 

Terazuma looked up to see a lab coat being held in front of his face. And behind that, a bespectacled face he did not recognize. He took the coat and accepted a helping hand to his feet, staring. "Who are you?" 

Still grasping his hand, Natsume turned the gesture into a handshake, and began to explain the whole thing. 

Inside the lab, Watari hooted and jumped in boyish excitement. "We did it, we did it!" he was chanting in a sing-song voice. "Wakaba-chan, I love you, you brilliant young thing!" He grabbed her around the shoulders and swung her around laughing, while Tatsumi looked on with a slightly embarrassed but grateful grin. 003 hooted as well, her excitement albeit more restrained. 

"However did you guys find that cassette?" Watari asked, letting Wakaba go. "I thought I'd lost that t' some other universe years ago." 

"It was all Tsuzuki's idea," she said. "He remembered what you had said about Spock-kun and took a chance that there was something of him left behind important enough that Enma would have hung onto it. And," she shrugged, "I guess it turned out he was right." 

"You mean, that slacker Tsuzuki may have saved us all?" Watari said. But his surprise was exaggerated. He turned around, looking out over the courtyard for the man in question. "Where is he when you need him? . . . Tsuzuki!" 

Hisoka heard Watari's call and gently nudged the man in question who leaned against his back, his arms draped over Hisoka's shoulders. "Tsuzuki," he said, "I think Watari-san wants to talk to you. . . . Tsuzuki?" 

The only answer he received was a quiet snore. Tsuzuki had fallen asleep. 

"Dork," Hisoka mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He had been wide awake only a few seconds ago. But that thought only made him smile to himself and relax, even under that dead weight. Even with the probability of being drooled on. At this point, he too was eager to put this night behind him. 

Over the buildings behind them the sky was just beginning to lighten to a warm indigo. In the west, the moon was sinking into the topmost boughs of the cherry trees. The earth continued its eternal rotation, as though the whole thing had been nothing but a short summer night's dream. 

—  
to be concluded 


	20. Morning Has Broken

_We may never learn the precise reason for Spock-kun's reappearance in Meifu that night. Maybe, as Watari-san believes, like the dog on the RCA label he heard his master's voice crooning across the planes of space and could not resist the call. As for me, I'd rather subscribe to the theory that that night's conditions — being an almost mirror image to the night he disappeared — happened to be right to persuade him to trigger the TVC-15 and return, simply because some line of code in his programming told him so. _

_Whatever the case, memory is memory. And that night proved what a powerful force it can be — both manipulative, and manipulatable. _

_Needless to say, no one was in need of an engram reduction after that night, though some of us could have used one anyway. I never have been able to dine at an establishment that offers karaoke in peace since then. The damage to the engineering department and the surrounding buildings was estimated at more than the Judgment Bureau had funds for; but, with another long period of gradual reconstruction in sight, Tatsumi managed to keep a stiff upper lip. Perhaps a little too stiff. _

_And so everything returned to a state of relative normalcy — as normal as things can ever be around here. The strange events of that night soon became as fuzzy as a passing dream, and the pieces of our pasts conjured by them returned to their rightful places in our memories. Watari-san was content thereafter to concern himself only with probing worlds that were known to us — which were fraught with enough danger in their own right. _

_We never made contact with that dark universe ever again._

—

"Then, everything is taken care of?" 

In the dimness of the Earl's dining room, the white gloves that were suspended over the table had an eerie glow. The calmness of their owner's manner — what could be discerned from his voice and what little there was of him to discern in the shadows to begin with — was one of the few things that moved Kira to a sense of unease. It was an irrational unease, and that was what bothered her. Maybe it was his impeccable dress and impeccable hair slick with oil, or the creepy grin he seemed to have on his shadowy face; but, then again, she could have been projecting. 

"It is, Hakushaku-sama," she said, keeping her voice cold despite the formality. "Lord Enma has seen to it that Fluffy shall be confined to a more secure location until the date of his appearance in court. The disturbances in the basement of the Castle were deemed to be the doing of an invader who was never actually in it to begin with. Fluffy was merely using the frequencies it emitted for his own purposes." 

"Clever little devil," said Hakushaku as he accepted a cup of tea from Watson. "I would be very interested in knowing how he did it. You don't suppose Enma would grant me an interview after all that, do you? Well, all things considered, probably not. —Watson, would you offer Miss Tsukiori a cup of tea for all her troubles this morning?" 

"Smashing idea, Hakushaku-sama," the small man warbled, rolling his proportionately sized tea tray over to her end of the table. 

Kira could not help an awkward stutter. "Sir, I-I really mustn't—" 

"Nonsense. It's the first blush—" 

"Hakushaku-sama and I are very proud of the leaves here. Do you know the master grows his own tea on the premises?" Watson echoed, standing on his tiptoes to push a cup and saucer before her on the table, and having a rather rough time of it. 

"No, I mean I really must be going," she said though she helped the butler anyway. How could she adequately express her uncertainty about accepting a cup of tea from one of the most fearsome demons she knew of, even if also one of the biggest laughingstocks? "You'll find Tsuzuki-san and the others have managed to bring the real perpetrator and the mess it brought with it under control." 

Hakushaku nodded with a hum. "So that's it, then." 

Kira hesitated. "Yes, that's all I have to report at this moment. Now if you'll excuse me—" 

"There is one more thing, Miss Tsukiori." 

She stopped and slowly turned to look over her shoulder. She could feel dread creeping over her like a cold shadow. "Yes?" 

"Do yourself a favor and loosen up. I can only imagine the stressful life of an exorcist such as yourself, but do remember you are human. Don't deny yourself things you like or want just because they might make you feel good. You are entitled to some pleasures in life." 

She paled. That was the second time this morning she had received such a warning. "Sir," she began, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." 

He tilted his face at that, and the candlelight on the table made his crimson eyes sparkle in a way that was strangely familiar. "Don't you?" he said in the deceptively smooth tone of voice. Then he made as if to change the subject. "How was Tsuzuki when you left him, anyway? I care for that young man like he was my own son, though he doesn't always appreciate it, and I do hope he's feeling better." 

She started. What was that supposed to mean? Was he insinuating something? Hopefully not what she thought, because that would be utterly ridiculous. She frowned. "How should I know? We can hardly even stand to be in the same room together." 

"Hm? Well, perhaps," Hakushaku said curiously. He did not seem to mind that his innocent manner of asking was so transparent. "But what does that have to do with what I asked?" 

—

When Hisoka stepped into the office at eight a.m. that morning, this was the first thing he heard: 

"Good morning, Dave. I'm ready for my first lesson." 

He looked down, and found himself staring into the computer screen face of a little robot no larger than a sheltie. He was back. _Spock-kun . . ._

"Yo! Mornin', Bon," Watari said, his countenance as sunny as the sky outside the window. "Isn't this neat? Look how much the little guy's rememberin' already." 

"Greetings, program," Spock said in a flat, electronic voice, still staring at Hisoka even as the young man stepped by. Riding on its back, 003 would have rolled her eyes, if she could. Watari was delighted. "You see? He's storin' your face and behavior in his memory bank already. He'll continue t' add ont' that information until he knows exactly how t' deal with you — which is more than I can say for some of the characters around here." 

As though on cue, Tatsumi approached and woodenly raised a hand in greeting. "Good morning, Kurosaki-kun." 

"Morning, Tatsumi." 

"Um, Watari-san . . ." Tatsumi set himself down on the edge of a nearby desk with as much care as the lunar landing, the ominous presence of the legal pad in his hand telling all. "I've been calculating the extent of the damage received by the Judgment Bureau's property last night, and I think it's time you and I start discussing ways of paying it off." 

"Not now, Tatsumi," Watari said, trying to ignore the subject by turning his attention back to Spock. "Isn't there a more appropriate time, like durin' a meetin' or something?" He waved his hand with the screwdriver in it around to illustrate his busy state. 

But Tatsumi went on as though uninterrupted. The two had this sort of thing down to a science. "There are some simple measures we can all take to trim our individual shares of the budget. For one, stop spending them on extravagances like new computer equipment when what you have, though maybe not the latest technology on the market, works perfectly well." He pointed his pen at the robot as illustration numero uno. 

That got the scientist's attention. "I didn't spend a dime. These are parts I found, you know, just here and there. I mighta had t' hack up some equipment that was just gatherin' dust, nothing much, just one of the library's extra monitors . . ." he said under his breath, watching the secretary warily. 

Now taking a good look at the robot, Hisoka noticed several updates to its design. It looked sleeker than before, the exterior technology more streamlined, yet still unabashedly 1979. "You did all this in four hours?" 

"Yep." Watari nodded. "Spock-kun here's a whole new man. I updated his motherboard, increased his memory by, like, a billion, but that's a cakewalk with the kind of super-compression microchip technology they got out these days. Got him goin' wireless with infrared; no more messy cables. And I installed a high-definition monitor inside the old Commodore Personal Electronic Transactor classic white, trapezoidal chassis for sort of a retro feel; but really he wouldn't be Spock-kun without it. It was a little difficult findin' a screen the right size, but, well . . . let's just say I'm used t' workin' overtime. You know, they really don't make computers like they used t'. Back then, it was all about the pizazz." 

Pizazz? Who talked like that anymore? "Well, it's nice," Hisoka said awkwardly. If a little creepy, the way it watched Hisoka with its unblinking camera lenses. As long as it didn't try to smell him up. . . . 

That was when Watari noticed he was wearing the same clothes as last night. "Hey, Bon, I see you've got some nasty grass stains there. May I interest you in Professor Watari's super-new, super-strong stain removal formula?" He produced the spray bottle seemingly from nowhere and shook it. "Now formulated t' treat even the toughest dark matter, and yet gentle enough for repeated usage." 

Hisoka sighed. "Whatever. Hit me," he said, and spread his arms while Watari sprayed his clothing liberally with the stuff. 

"You know," Tatsumi said, "you could always apply for a patent on your AI technology. With the demand today, that would pay for the renovations to the engineering department and surrounding structure work in no time." He adjusted his glasses. "Or this tonic here. If indeed it works as well as you say it does." 

"And more so, my dear Tatsumi. But let the livin' world piggyback off my years of hard labor? I think not." Finishing with Hisoka, Watari straightened up with a sigh. "They'll figure these things out for themselves in another hundred years. Until then, I'm happy just sittin' back and watchin' them try. 

"Besides," he added, raising an index finger philosophically into the air, "you might not realize this, but I'm a changed man. A less meddlesome man. This whole mess with the TVC-one-five has taught me a lesson." 

"With great genius comes great responsibility?" 

"Close. You piss in God's eye one too many times and he just might blink . . . or something like that." 

The door opened again, and the three turned to see Chief Konoe lumbering slowly into the room, looking oddly tanuki-esque with big black circles under his eyes. Spock went to approach him with his new greeting, but Watari quickly chased after it as though after a babbling child. The chief mumbled something that they thought might have been a derivative of good morning, and they smiled feebly back. "Heya, Chief," Watari said ironically. "Rough night?" 

Konoe simply stared at them. His gaze slowly traveled down to the robot studying his leg. "Do I even want to know?" 

"Nothin', sir. Just an old . . . invention." 

He grimaced. "Why does Kurosaki-kun smell like he's been hitting the rye?" 

"Oh, that? It's an experimental stain killer. Still got a few inconvenient side effects t' work out at this stage of development," Watari said. He and Hisoka added at the same time, "The smell means it's working." 

"Just don't get too close to me," the chief grumbled to Hisoka as he moved past them, trailing off. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. . . ." 

When he was out of earshot, Tatsumi let out his breath and looked down at his hands. "I haven't told him," he said under his breath. He got to his feet. "I've been putting it off as long as I can. I just hope he's shaken off this hangover before the you-know-what hits the fan." He sighed. "Someone's going to get fired over this." 

Watari stared at him over the rim of his glasses, and Tatsumi frowned back. "Well, it is not going to be me." 

Leaving them to their discussion of financial troubles, Hisoka made his way back to his desk, where he found the suit he had borrowed for 003 the night before folded neatly and set on the corner. There was nothing left to do but return it now; and embarrassing as that might be, trying to explain to Wakaba why he had her clothes — or, rather, trying not to explain — he was ready to bite the bullet. 

He found Wakaba sitting with her partner at their shared desk, kibitzing about the previous night's events. One of these days, he would have to get the story of what happened down there from them, and use it to verify whatever account Tsuzuki gave him. For now, he remarked, "You two are in early." 

They looked up, Wakaba smiling brightly, Terazuma trying unsuccessfully to smooth down his hair on one side, a finger of his other hand hooked around the handle of a coffee mug as though super glued to it. "Couldn't sleep?" Hisoka asked. 

"I can sleep when I'm dead," Terazuma slurred ironically. "Thought I might as well finish my report while the whole thing is still fresh in my mind. Not that it matters. It isn't rocket surgery." 

"That's science," Wakaba tried. 

"What is?" 

"Look, it's either _brain_ surgery, or rocket . . . You know what? Never mind." 

Her partner looked over. "Why? What did I say?" 

She ignored him and turned to Hisoka, noticing the bundle in his arms. "Is that my suit?" 

Hisoka handed it over. "Yeah," he said. "I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed it while you were out—" 

"_And you didn't tell_ us?" 

He started to hear those two familiar voices, shattering the relative calm of the office in those still morning hours as effectively as though two crows had just entered the room. There was a crash in the chief's direction as he dropped the mug he had been holding in mid-pour at the noise and the certain doom it heralded, and then howled as steaming hot coffee splashed all over. 

Hisoka's heart was suddenly racing with a dread he had not experienced for almost exactly twelve hours. 

The names synonymous with eternal humiliation sprang off his tongue. "Saya. . . . Yuma!" 

"Good morning!" said the former with an animated grin, completely oblivious to anything that had happened since their parting the evening before. "It is a beautiful morning, isn't it?" 

"Who let you guys in?" said Terazuma, spinning in his seat. 

"Don't be such a grump, Hajime," said Yuma, her mood not dampened by his sarcasm one whit. "We brought our badges this time. See?" 

He glared right over the tops of them. "I'll have to have a few words with security over that," he grumbled. "And who said you could call me Hajime?" 

Wakaba forced a laugh and scooted her chair away. 

Remembering the issue at hand, Yuma slapped her palms down on his part of the desk and leaned over to stare down Hisoka. "Of course, I would have been here sooner if I knew I would see Hisoka in a young lady's business suit." 

Hisoka jumped back a step. "No . . . wait! You've got it all wrong!" 

"Can I see it?" Saya unfolded the jacket and held it up. 

Wakaba shrugged and watched indifferently. She didn't have a say anyway, so what would be the use. 

"Wa-a-a, what a cute cut! I'm so jealous!" 

Yuma tried holding it up underneath Hisoka's chin. "Oh, this color is absolutely delicious on Hisoka-kun! Look how it contrasts your eyes. . . ." 

"It must have been a true Kodak moment. Do you think this means after all our hard work we finally got through to him?" 

"What?" Hisoka backed away from the clothing, feeling oddly violated being re-dressed with their eyes. "No, I wouldn't be caught dead in that! I was just borrowing it for . . ." 

He trailed off, remembering. The girls looked at him expectantly. 

"For a friend." 

"Anyone we know?" said a skeptical Yuma. 

Hisoka searched his brain, but he couldn't find an answer. What was he going to say, that he had taken the outfit to clothe a naked girl who was really an owl? He wasn't sure which part they would believe less, the owl part or the naked girl. He had nothing, and they knew it. Might as well let them believe what they wanted. Ignorance, in this case, would be bliss for all. 

He sighed and looked down at his feet. "No. No one," he said, and as soon as he did the girls squealed. 

"Hisoka-kun, you're not a very good liar, are you?" 

"It's really nothing to be ashamed of." 

They went on to jabber about how a more colorful palette was so in for young men these days, and how Wakaba's suit was nice and professional and all, but she should really consider getting an outfit from Pink House that matched theirs. Wakaba smiled and tried to politely decline, while Terazuma sat beside her with one eye twitching. It seemed to Hisoka that he hardly moved, as though, like tyrannosaurs on the prowl for man-meat, the two young women wouldn't notice him if he didn't move. 

Taking a page from Terazuma's book, Hisoka slowly moved away. He dove for the safety of his own desk, pulling out the biggest book he could find and propping it open in front of his face. 

He was a little ways through the beginning of his own report — and sidetracked wondering how much it would be wise _not_ to include — when someone else came through the door. He only knew because right away Spock started up with his new litany of, "Good morning, Dave. . . ." 

"My name's not Dave. The accident must have screwed up your information," Tsuzuki was saying back to it. "Watari, who's Dave and why did you teach him to call me that?" 

"It's just a line from a movie, Tsuzuki," came Watari's self-conscious reply. 

Tsuzuki left the scientist and his toys, bypassed Terazuma and Wakaba's desk with the two young women debating the new surge in the popularity of plaid around it, and flopped down in his usual chair, all with a practiced ease that said he probably could have done it in his sleep. Which, for a moment, Hisoka was concerned he actually might have done. He slowly lowered the book, staring at the uncombed hair on the top of Tsuzuki's head as his face was currently buried between his folded arms. 

"How are you feeling, Tsuzuki?" Hisoka ventured. 

"Like the living dead, but thanks for asking," came the muffled response. After a moment, Tsuzuki raised his head and met his partner's eyes, looking deep into them for some sort of support as he confessed, "Hisoka, I had the strangest dream." 

Hisoka raised an eyebrow. 

"You were there." Grasping something in his mind, Tsuzuki pointed at him — then at others around the room in turn. "And Wakaba, and Terazuma, and Watari's robot — but it was a lot bigger and louder and . . ." 

He trailed off. And when he turned back to Hisoka, there was a look in his eyes that straddled the line between disbelief and distress. "It was just a dream. . . . Wasn't it, Hisoka?" 

Hisoka sighed and patted his partner on the shoulder. 

"Yeah, Tsuzuki. It was all just a really bad dream." 

That seemed to cheer the man up somewhat. He looked a little less haggard as he nodded to himself and opened the drawer in his desk. 

"By the way," Hisoka added, "the chief's gonna need your account of that dream on his desk by the end of the day." 

"You've gotta be kidding me—" Tsuzuki's scrounging around in his desk drawer came to an abrupt stop. If it were possible, he looked even more dejected than before as he asked in a small voice, "Hey, Hisoka? Do you know what happened to the box of nougats I had in here? I was saving those." 

Hisoka was spared from having to answer, however, for the chief chose that moment to stand by the window with his cup of coffee in hand and look out across the building complex. "_What the hell happened to the lab?_" he roared, making even Saya and Yuma cringe. 

Perhaps with an air of assumed obliviousness this time, the survival instinct of the mad scientist, Watari chose that moment to say, "Hey, check this out." 

Tatsumi massaged the bridge of his nose; while Spock-kun lit up in an array of colored LEDs and began to swivel back and forth in a robotic dance as his speakers projected the first few bars of the song that had caused it all, the Zun-Doko Bushi. 

—

_And that's why I hate enka._

—

The End

_. . . or is it?_

—

Muraki raised himself to his feet, and right away put his hands to his head as the blood pounded back into his brain. If there was a way to describe how he felt it might have been the feeling of being squeezed out of a pastry bag. One moment he had been enjoying a pleasant midnight tea with his top rival beneath the cherry trees in full bloom, and the next thing he knew was waking up on this dark street. At least everything was still intact, both eyes accounted for. 

He took in his surroundings. The street appeared to be that of a suburban residential complex. Monotonous concrete walls surrounded the usual duplexes and townhouses of the middle-class Japanese variety, and electrical lines criss-crossed the air above the narrow street. That was somewhat reassuring. At least he was still in Japan — and on land, for that matter — but where exactly within it he had no idea. Surely there had to be a school in this neighborhood or something that might indicate which city or province he had ended up in. 

He caught the flicker of a light behind him and turned. A streetlight struggled to remain lit, then, abruptly died, its bulb imploding. 

No extraordinary occurrence; but something beneath it drew his attention. Something that twitched and tried in vain to pull itself along the concrete. Out of the same curiosity that had made him so great at his profession, he approached. Though the thing moved organically, closer inspection revealed it to be a broken bit of machinery trailing cables and little wires; and it was these cables that inched it along, as it emitted a thin and broken sine wave. 

Muraki did not have to know what it was to know it was evil. After all, it took one to know one. He stepped on it. Not grinding with unnecessary vigor, simply applying pressure with the heel of his shoe until it quit that horrid sound. Then he released it, and half turned as if to go. 

However, what he also knew was that it came from the same place he had. So he bent, picked up the bloodless corpse, and slipped it into the pocket of his long, white coat. 

He would remember this night. When he returned to that place the final time, and not of his own will, he would make sure to have this invaluable bargaining chip on his person. This reminder of Juuohcho's past sins. Then one Mr Tatsumi Seiichiro would see that he, Dr Muraki Kazutaka, would not go easily into whatever hell awaited him. 

He kept walking through the eerily abandoned streets, until at last he came to the commercial part of town. 

Then he was forced to stop despite himself. 

Human figures were gathered on the sidewalk in aimless groups like young gangster wannabes out to express their boredom on a muggy summer night, but they were no ordinary young thugs. Their posture was terrible. Their fashion sense even more so; but that was not so unusual. What were were their eyes, which glowed with an unnatural and hungry light as they turned their heads toward the disturbance. One by one they sensed Muraki's presence and began to move toward him, dropping cans from vending machines and spray paint bottles and shoplifted pornographic magazines. They opened their mouths — dry, receding lips and decaying gums parting to show their eternally insatiable gullets — and raised the most horrendous yowl. 

As they approached, Muraki smiled to himself and casually removed his cell phone from his pocket, dialing his own home number and putting it to his ear. 

"Sakaki?" he said. "Can you hear me?" 

That the butler merely answered was an affirmative. 

"Listen. You won't believe where I am." 

* * *

And now the story's over. I want to thank everyone who reviewed or just plain stuck with me for the two years plus I've been working on this. I've really appreciated the feedback and encouragement — and excellent puns, Literary Eagle — and I'm just sorry I didn't complete it in a more timely manner. It's been a fun ride for me, and I hope it has been for you readers. :) 

A note on this final chapter: I angsted a lot over including the section in which Kira meets with Hakushaku, because it breaks up the flow, reveals too much obscure information, whathaveyou. (I think I know how Lucas felt about the Anchorhead scene now.) I've included it anyway, mostly cos I heart Watson, but feel free to disregard it if that works better for you. 

—  
fin 


End file.
